Walk a Mile
by Randomite
Summary: So things are quiet around the Tower and Bruce is doing a favour for an old friend...what could possibly go wrong? An ancient but seemingly harmless artefact is about to cause a whole new set of problems...and maybe some answers. Friendships, bromances, black comedy. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Rated T for occasional bad language and anything else of a mildly adult nature I may choose to add in later. I've had this idea in various guises for a while and thought it was about time I finally tried to write it. For argument's sake, I envision this as set around 6-8 months after the end of the movie allowing Steve to be at least a bit more familiar with technology and the 21st Century in general even if he's not totally comfortable with everything.  
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**Disclaimer: Any characters you recognise are Marvel's not mine (and vice versa).  
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* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter One**

The plain package, innocuously wrapped in brown paper, clearly marked for the attention of Doctor Bruce Banner and received via a masking address created specifically for personal mail deliveries to members of the Avengers, passed through the Tower's security scanning system without incident following its courier delivery that morning.

The security AI noted, rather disdainfully, that the parcel contained a solid, inert object of mineral origin – adjudged to represent no potential threat to its recipient or any other occupant of the Tower's residential floors unless, of course, it was used as a weapon (not wholly inconceivable but the AI considered there were already plenty of items in that area which could serve that purpose and therefore such conjecture probably fell outside its jurisdiction); a stapled wad of papers – too low-tech to even warrant any more than the most cursory of analyses; and a rather quaint (by Stark Industries' standards) flash drive with no modifications whatsoever – the most sophisticated virus scanning software on the planet returned a verdict of 'no discernible threat' concerning its contents.

Having verified the sender's address as 'known and trusted' via system email to Dr. Banner himself, the package was subsequently forwarded to the building's internal delivery infrastructure without further ado whilst the security AI returned to scanning some of the far more interesting packages it received on a daily basis. Most of these were (naively) personally addressed to its designer: One Tony Stark (said designer was getting more than a little concerned by the AI's preoccupation with ladies' undergarments and would have seriously considered a major redesign if it wasn't for the fact that the daily summary emails made him laugh - not to mention the wonders they worked for his ego, as if it needed it!).

Thus the apparently innocent and rather boring parcel arrived on the residential floors in the upper third of the Tower with a notification alert announcing its arrival and was presently collected by a tall blond who happened to be passing the small goods lift. He picked it up and cheerfully delivered it to its intended recipient.

Bruce's eyes lit up when he saw the writing on the parcel. He grasped it gleefully, hastening to unwrap it and uncover a sheaf of dull-looking papers with which he supplanted the other pile of equally dull-looking papers that had been occupying his attention up to that point. The flash drive received only the briefest of glances as it was set to one side before he carefully removed a smaller, protective box from within the larger one.

He scanned what were apparently research notes making small noises of interest and observation and then opened the box, removing a small, polished stone – about the size of his palm – with a few symbols etched on it.

"Not wishing to sound dismissive Bruce, but it's a stone." Steve observed, curious as to what it could be about this package that had the scientist so enthralled.

"This has been forwarded to me from an old college friend. It's a very ancient stone…"

"I don't know that much about geology but I thought all stones were pretty old…"

"It was uncovered in an archaeological dig about 3 years ago," Bruce interrupted testily, "it was buried in what appeared to be a specifically created chamber and surrounded by artefacts which would have been of huge value at the time – so its placing was obviously ceremonial rather than accidental. They dated the items to around 750b.c. but the markings on this don't correlate to any known culture or civilisation from anywhere in Earth history."

"I wasn't aware you had a specialism in archaeology."

"I don't and I wouldn't have got involved in this except the stone started to act strangely once they'd catalogued it and put it on display to the public. It scans as completely inert but at random times it's been observed to…well…er…_glow_: They managed to monitor and record a couple of these episodes and found it gave off light but without any detectable heat or energy, which should be impossible. This only occurs at odd times and no-one knows what causes it except it only seems to happen when there are people around."

"Well have fun with your stone," Steve said, happy to leave him to it, "just so long as it's not another Tesseract". He strolled out of the lab chuckling softly at Bruce's enthusiasm for a new scientific anomaly to investigate.

Bruce had Jarvis scan the stone fully; the results correlated with the notes he'd been sent. It was of an unremarkable iron/nickel type, possibly originally a meteorite fragment, but there were no phosphorescent materials, radiation or anything else within it which would explain its uncharacteristic behaviour.

Review of the media contained on the flash drive showed video of a couple of the incidents that had been described: The stone had been on display in a glass case and the only common factor to the occurrences was that it always happened when people were present, usually members of the public – it would suddenly emit a glow when certain groups approached it only to fade once more when they moved away. There was no possibility of the events being a trick of the light and the scans showed an increase in light levels in the stone's vicinity but nothing else.

Linguistic and historical experts had drawn a complete blank with the carvings on the stone and it was impossible to find any designs even remotely similar in order to begin any kind of speculation as to their possible origins.

Bruce sighed. The lack of empirical data meant the University had been unwilling to involve anyone else at an official level and it was at this point that his friend had got in touch – he was completely unaware of Bruce's involvement with the Avengers, he just wanted someone to take a look at the piece from a different scientific standpoint to see if there was anything they hadn't yet considered. He realised the only other thing he could try at this point was to take it where there were people and see if anything happened. He picked it up and took it with him to the kitchen, placing it carefully on the table aware that that area would shortly be the busiest place in this part of the Tower.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Clint entered and stared into the fridge hoping inspiration (or, better still, someone else willing to cook) would just turn up; Natasha walked in shortly afterwards giving him a pre-emptive "don't expect me to start slaving over a hot stove just because I'm female" look….he replied with a look of feigned innocence that no-one, least of all Natasha, was going to believe.

Bruce quirked a smile at the silent interaction; the stone remained resolutely inactive.

Jarvis advised that Tony had just arrived back from the board meeting Pepper had insisted he attend that day.

Clint and Natasha hoped he'd head to the kitchen so they started clattering various utensils and getting foods out of the fridge that could under no circumstances be combined to create a decent meal: The general plan was look helpless and clueless until Tony ordered in (pretty much the same plan they used every night but it worked more often than not!).

The anticipated interruption didn't arrive as quickly as they hoped so they started chopping chillies and managed to waste a significant amount of time when Clint forgot the rules about that and thoughtlessly adjusted himself; the entertaining little dance he did while the burn subsided took Natasha and Bruce's minds off their hunger momentarily.

The reason for Tony's delay became evident as voices - raised voices - came within earshot. He and Steve were arguing again.

They all tended to ignore this now because it seemed to be the two men's standard way of communicating. To a large extent it was irrelevant what the topic was: Whichever way you looked at it, they had radically opposing views on how to handle almost any situation even though, in most cases, they shared a common objective.

The odd thing, as everyone else had come to realise over the last few months, was that they actually quite liked each other and valued the other's point of view…it was just interacting that was the problem. Fortunately, when an emergency arose, they appeared to be able to put their differences entirely to one side and, to everyone's amazement, worked almost seamlessly together – Bruce suspected analysing their relationship could probably provide gainful employment to a whole team of world-class psychologists.

However, it was whilst Bruce was distracted, both by contemplating the conundrum that was Tony and Steve and by Clint's antics, that the scientist failed to notice the small etched stone begin to radiate a pale shade of blue.

As the habitual combatants made their way into the kitchen, Tony saw an opportunity to move the topic of conversation in an entirely different direction:

"Why's there a stone in the middle of my table and what's it doing?"

"What?" Bruce was taken totally by surprise…"Jarvis, when did the artefact's status change?"

"Around 138 seconds ago sir, I can be more exact if required" offered Jarvis helpfully.

"Any energy signature detected?"

"None whatsoever, Dr Banner. There is no apparent reason for this phenomenon."

Bruce, compelled by overwhelming scientific curiosity, picked the item up and turned it in his hand. He studied it closely, intrigued, but noted nothing different about it apart from this bizarre light source.

"Congratulations Bruce, it's a glowing stone thing…" said Tony grinning. He took the stone from Bruce and turned it in his hand, oddly enough the light appeared slightly brighter when he did so.

"Hey, it likes you Tony," smirked Clint.

"Suppose something has to," grumbled Steve, annoyed and hungry as well (which wasn't helping his mood).

"Let's see what it thinks of you then Spangles, catch!" Tony threw the stone to Steve who caught it easily…

The two were simultaneously enveloped in a blue light which appeared to emanate from the stone – soundlessly they both collapsed, landing heavily on the tiled floor.

Tony lay unmoving and clearly unconscious, his head having hit the hard surface with a nasty crack. Immediately concerned, Bruce and Natasha rushed to check on him.

Steve always took a lot more knocking out and, after only the briefest moment of stillness, he came to, appearing dazed and groggy. Groaning heavily and shaking his head as if to clear it, he looked around him in bewilderment before his eyes finally settled on the unconscious billionaire. He stared unabashed, a look of abject horror on his face.

"You OK, Steve?" Clint approached him cautiously knowing that a disoriented Captain America was liable to hit out if caught unawares.

Steve just continued to gaze at Tony's prone body before he finally spoke. The voice was his but the words most definitely weren't:

"What the fuck am I doing over there?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Two**

Three faces turned, aghast, to look at Steve who seemed preoccupied with looking at his arms and then clawing at his chest as though something was missing. He got to his feet rapidly, too rapidly, and staggered slightly, grabbing at the counter top and almost detaching it from the cupboards simply with his grip.

"Hey Steve, it's OK, just take it easy. You must have got a bigger bang on the head than we thought…" Clint started nervously, careful not to startle the man.

Steve shook his head as though trying to clear it before looking up with a confused expression and speaking with a tone that suggested he barely believed it himself: "It's me…Tony…and that devilishly handsome body over there is mine, though…" he started to stretch and flex his muscles, "…I've gotta say this is pretty impressive…and tall." He looked around as though he was seeing everything from a different angle.

There was a horrified silence as everyone absorbed the ramifications of that statement.

"So where's Steve?" Natasha was trying to sound like this was an everyday occurrence and not really succeeding. She wasn't sure if she was humouring an insane man or not but it seemed there was no other choice at this point but to go with it until things became clearer.

"Well he's not in here with me…and if you think that's weird to hear, believe me, it's much weirder to say."

They all stared at Tony's still body, willing it to wake but it remained resolutely still and unusually pale; breathing was shallow but steady.

Bruce checked the unconscious man's pupils again but there did not appear to be a concussion, he simply seemed unable to wake up.

"We'd better move him to the med room," he said momentarily at a loss as to what else to do.

"I can do it," said Tony/Steve, nearly ripping the back off a kitchen chair in his haste to help.

"I don't think that's a great idea while you've so little control of your own strength," replied Bruce. "We don't need crush injuries as well. Clint, get his legs, I'll take the top half."

The two of them manhandled Tony's inert body carefully out of the kitchen and down the corridor. Natasha warily indicated to the blond he should follow before noticing the artefact that had caused the problem lying on the floor, now radiating a muted green glow. Cautiously, unwilling to touch it herself, she grabbed a pair of barbecue tongs and lifted the stone carefully before following the others.

* * *

In the medical room, Bruce had attached sensors to Tony's head and, after threatening to get Natasha to do it, convinced Tony to let him do the same to Steve's.

"I'm alright, I don't need all these tests – this is me…it's just his body…"

"Shut up Tony." Bruce's unusually irritable response wasn't a good sign and caused Tony to actually do as he was told for once.

The Doctor was looking at the two sets of output results on screen with Jarvis displaying previously taken comparable scans underneath so that the four sets of data appeared as a grid. He ran his hand through his hair with the air of a man trying to manage a growing sense of panic and helplessness.

"Bruce…?" Natasha edged a little closer, always a little concerned when the man showed signs of increased tension around his shoulders.

He sighed and switched the display from the pad he was using to the larger holographic display so they could all see. He pointed to the set of readouts on the right first:

"The top section is the current readout from Steve's body. The lower brain functions, the ones that control all the involuntary activity such as respiration and so on are normal for him (he indicated how it correlated directly to the same line on the section below); but the higher brain functions, the "mind" or "consciousness" if you like, match perfectly with Tony's". To illustrate his point he aimed his finger at the relevant line on the lower left section of the grid which showed a similar jagged pattern of peaks and troughs.

Tony was already ahead of him. Staring horrified at the top left section of the display he muttered, "Oh shit!"

The area that should have logically shown where Steve's mind was presently located displayed nothing but a flat line.

* * *

_Steve wasn't sure where he was or if, indeed, he was anywhere at all – in a physical sense at least. _

_He felt like he was floating in a mist with no sense of heat, light or anything really and gradually realised he was aware of, rather than hearing, voices murmuring but was unable to discern what they were saying: They seemed a little disconcerted for want of a better description._

"_Well this is most irregular, they should both be here," spluttered one of the voices over the general hubbub._

_Steve focussed on this one voice and addressed a specific thought at its source. _

_"Excuse me, but who are you and where am I?" _

"_Please wait one moment Subject Rogers."_

"_Oh great, you can't even get decent service these days when you're dead" he thought._

* * *

Steve's physical form, in fact, was anything but dead. However, it was presently inhabited by a bewildered and rather scared Tony who was staring at his own unconscious body hoping that it would shortly wake up with Steve in residence.

He briefly wondered at what point his life got so bizarre that this could be considered a desirable outcome before realising that the only other alternative he liked was the one where he was, in fact, smashed out of his skull and dreaming this whole sorry saga - the realisation that he'd clenched his fist so hard his nails had driven through the skin causing his hand to bleed (which he then watched begin to heal itself almost immediately) told him that scenario was, sadly, not a likely one.

* * *

"_Hello…..HELLO! Can someone please tell me what's going on here? Am I dead?"_

"_Oh no, Subject Rogers, you are quite alright and will be returned shortly. It's just that both you and Subject Stark should be here so that we can fully explain your complimentary introduction to the Peacemaker Program ..…"_

"_Peacemaker?...What the hell…?"_

_Steve could have sworn he heard a hissed "Start the presentation anyway" in amongst the babbling of voices._

_The mist seemed to clear a little in one area and a set of symbols, reminiscent of those the soldier had noticed on the strange stone, appeared. _

_He became aware of a tuneless dirge (and that was a charitable description) playing and found himself reminded of some of those sales presentations Fury had made him sit through as part of his familiarisation with the latest military systems (Tony had also shown him some of Hammer's presentations simply because he thought they were hilariously bad!)._

_Mercifully, the "music" was short-lived and the presentation moved on to a series of images depicting a rotund, olive-skinned race in a variety of what he assumed were friendly and peaceful pursuits – at least he hoped that's what he was watching and not the more…er…mature viewing he'd found Tony and Clint watching on occasion (being alien, with different anatomy and all, it was a bit hard to tell)._

_His mind was soon put at rest when a deep voice started to narrate the images:_

"_For millennia, the citizens of the planet Nefrangius Seven have lived in harmony due to their unique ability to resolve disputes._

_In order to share their acquired knowledge throughout the known galaxy, we are proud to present an insight into their wisdom by means of the Peacemaker Program._

_We are pleased to advise that you have been specially selected to experience a free trial of the program._

_We are sure that, on completion of this unique offer, you will both be delighted by your new-found ability to exist in peace with one another and we will be happy to discuss terms for acquiring further full copies of the program at that point._

_In the meantime, we hope you find the experience both illuminating and helpful. We are sure you will be greatly enriched by your participation."_

_The grandiose presentation was followed by a higher-pitched but nonetheless significantly quieter voice which swiftly imparted the following information:_

"_Participants are reminded that this is a seven-day no obligation trial. Participation in the program is entirely at the subject's own risk. Peacemaker (Nefrangius) Inc. will not be held accountable for loss of limb, life or other permanent injury incurred whilst using the program. This offer is limited to one per user. Full terms and conditions are available on request."_

"_So…." Steve struggled to make sense of this… "you're telling me that Tony and I have been ambushed by a 3000 year old sales pitch of some kind….a pen would have been fine you know. What form does this 'program' take? And why am I the only one of us here?"_

"_It is most unusual Subject Rogers. When transference took place you should both have come to the waiting room before being placed." The voice was most definitely perplexed._

"_What do you mean by 'transference' and 'placed'?" Steve was starting to feel quite grateful he was presently minus his cranium as the headache this conversation would probably cause was likely to be excruciating._

"_During transference it is our policy to stun the subjects for a short period in order they may be properly introduced to the program. It is a minor inconvenience that this has not worked successfully on this occasion so we will have to rely on you advising Subject Stark about the benefits of this opportunity on your return. Please be aware that are unable to make any form of reparation or offer second opportunities in this regard so we recommend you return as soon as possible in order to take full advantage…"_

"_So you managed to stun me but not Tony….?"_

"_No, it appears it is your body that failed to respond. We may have made a minor miscalculation." The irascible voice seemed keen to gloss over the matter as quickly as possible and conclude matters. "You will be returning shortly. To summarise: You have been transferred to each other's bodies for a duration of seven Earth days over which time you will gain an insight into the other's perspective on life. We have found this promotes tolerance and understanding between enemies which, in turn, leads to lasting peace."_

"_But we're not enemies, we're friends….in a manner of speaking." Steve pondered this information further. "WAIT! You put Tony in my body?"_

"_Exactly….but he should have come here first…"_

"_SWAP US BACK. RIGHT NOW!"_

"_I'm sorry Subject Rogers but when you both responded to the contract signal…" the voice was starting to gabble now._

"…_the blue glow…?"_

"…_if you prefer, the blue glow…then you effectively agreed to the trial contract. You will both be returned to your own body in seven days regardless of condition. Prepare for completion of transference."_

"_No…we have to be able to reverse this…WAIT…."_

* * *

Back in the medical room, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Tony were still staring at the flat line on the display, the despair surrounding them conspicuous and overwhelming.

Tony, in spite of his own predicament, couldn't find it in himself to begin to worry. Much as he'd frequently like to kick the Captain's sanctimonious ass (and he had a strong suspicion the feeling was mutual!) there was no way he had anything but respect – even if he didn't always show it - and even a grudging liking for the man: The thought of him gone like that, so suddenly, worried him even more than finding himself in another person's body.

Suddenly and without warning, the line started to twitch and then, over the following few seconds, a discernible pattern – weak but definitely there – began to emerge.

Steve felt the floating sensation dissipate and become something a great deal more tangible. He was lying down with a splitting headache and could sense a weight in his chest which generated a low hum causing a resonance throughout his entire body.

Tentatively, he partially opened his eyes and looked straight down at himself…he was smaller, had darker-toned skin and, most unmistakeably of all, his chest housed an arc reactor.

"…and to think I complained when I woke up and found I'd slept for 70 years…" he murmured weakly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies for the delay in updating this - the annual festival of gluttony called Christmas seems to have disrupted normal service. Also, I have to admit to having really struggled with this one - there's a lot of setup for the plot to come so I hope it's not too dull.  
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**Many thanks for the reviews and follows so far.  
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* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter 3**

Despite being the farthest away of all the Avengers in the small med room from the unconscious man, Tony clearly heard Steve's muttered comment when, judging by their reactions, the others clearly didn't.

**"_So he wasn't kidding about super-hearing!"_**

Moving more swiftly than he anticipated, he arose from his sitting position on the second bed and nearly pulled all Bruce's delicate monitoring equipment, presently attached to his body, with him in the process.

_**"Shit! Need some practise driving this thing!"**_

Instinctively and without conscious thought he caught everything in his now massive hands, righting it all with a speed and dexterity that left him astounded.

_**"Didn't think my reactions were too shabby before …but that's….WOW!"**_

His easily distracted mind briefly pondered just how amazing this body he was now in really was and, in those few moments, Bruce and Natasha had already realised their leader was coming to and had beaten him to it.

The displaced genius was aware of the contemptuous glares fired his way from both of them in reaction to his clumsiness as they dashed to the other bedside and, in spite of his relief at the their leader's regaining consciousness, he couldn't help but feel quite unreasonably aggrieved at the equipment that had stolen his thunder. He ripped the sensors from his head and swatted in frustration at the equipment with what he thought was no more than a gentle tap only to have to repeat his previous rapid-retrieval trick.

"Tony, try and be more careful…" Bruce chastised him brusquely without looking away from the medical readouts and his patient.

Unnerved by the intensity of both actions and reactions in the serum-enhanced body, Tony focussed on manoeuvring himself closer to the other bed without sending anything (or anyone) else flying.

"Steve? Can you hear me?" Natasha asked the prone man with surprising softness.

Steve opened his eyes more fully and groaned as the increased light aggravated his truly epic headache. He moved to sit up and, with a little assistance from his concerned teammates, eventually managed to right himself albeit a little unsteadily, by swinging his significantly shorter than normal legs around to the side of the small bed and using both hands to maintain his upright position.

"Guess it wasn't a dream then," he remarked wryly, looking at his own body staring back at him from across the room. "Are you OK Tony?" he enquired with an air of normality that took everyone by surprise.

"How the hell do you know what happened_?_" Tony's serum-accelerated genius mind despatched the question directly to his vocal cords while everyone else was still assimilating the original remark.

"Guess I got a head's up on that one…not like you to miss a meeting." Steve smiled grimly, having been forewarned still didn't particularly lessen the shock of seeing your own body occupied by someone else. He responded to the quizzical looks he was receiving by taking a deep breath and recounting his encounter with the intelligence contained inside the artefact to everyone present.

He'd always had an excellent memory, even back before the serum (a useful survival tool during his childhood), and was pleased to note that skill hadn't deserted him as he related his curious experience; nonetheless he was acutely aware, as he found himself needing to go back over things and fill in additional points more accurately, that his recall was not at the level of precision to which he was fully accustomed: He couldn't help but suspect that the hope this was solely attributable to the bump he'd taken to the head was a forlorn one.

He worked at keeping his tone clear and calm as he spoke, recollecting the occurrence as objectively as possible; his logic hadn't abandoned him even if his incisiveness of thought had. Instinct told him that, with the power these aliens had to swap minds into different bodies, it wasn't as if there was any motivation for them to lie…but then it wasn't as if he had any familiarity with alien sales techniques either so he was keen to hear the others' take on it.

Bruce, struggling to quell his own rising sense of guilt about the situation, forced himself to apply his dispassionate scientist's mind to the facts as they knew them at this point in time. Having listened carefully he asked:

"What was your impression of them?"

"Misguided….but not malicious." Steve responded, having taken a moment to consider his answer.

"Not to mention trigger happy," Clint piped up. He'd been observing events from the far side of the room; it was odd seeing "Tony" behaving so rationally and calmly while "Steve" was edgy and agitated.

"I guess after nearly three millennia spent buried they were just dying to try their big sell…" Natasha contributed dryly.

"Tony…?" Bruce queried the uncharacteristically quiet genius, anxious to hear his opinion and more than a little concerned at the clear level of tension visible throughout the muscular body of the super soldier: He stood, rigid, as if scared by his own exaggerated movements, the metal end of the medical cot clearly feeling the strain where a hand gripped it.

"Well the whole story's too ridiculous to be anything but the truth….Who comes up with a lie as ludicrous as that?" Despite his best efforts, the billionaire failed to imbue Steve's voice with his trademark ambivalence and arrogance.

Steve inhaled deeply, wincing slightly at the dull throbbing in his skull.

"Think we have any chance of figuring out how this was done within the next week?"

"Of course it's possible…and I think we should try….just in case…but if you're both going to revert anyway perhaps it's best to just wait it out." Bruce's concern that interfering with the process could make matters worse remained unspoken but everyone understood the potential risks.

"I agree," Steve's voice was breathy with reluctant acceptance. "Tony? Agree?"

"Er…guess so. I mean, who wouldn't want to be Captain America for a week?" His attempt at a trivialising the situation was contradicted by a dull creak from the bed end which was really starting to show the strain as it bent slightly in his grip; realising what he was inadvertently doing he released it as though it had been heated and secured both his large hands under his arms. Swaying slightly from foot to foot, unaccustomed to the sheer amount of energy he suddenly seemed to have, he continued: "Probably best to keep this from Cyclops though, for the moment. Last thing we need is those morons at Shield Medical wading in with their leeches and electrodes…"

Steve nodded, first at Tony then Natasha who started to move towards the door.

"I'll tell Fury the pair of you are on the sick list after one of Stark's lab mishaps. Seven days bed rest on the orders of Dr Banner."

"Hey, why does it have to be my fault?" Clint couldn't help but reflect it would take longer than seven days to get used to a Tony-whine in a Steve-voice.

"First rule of lying Stark: Always employ the most plausible concept that achieves your aims." It was fortunate that Tony's attention was focussed on the rapidly exiting superspy as it meant he didn't notice Bruce's barely suppressed smirk at her smart response.

Still visibly bristling at her sheer effrontery, Tony took a stride in the direction of the door, dragging his hand against the bed end as he concentrated on manoeuvring around the room's obstacles:

"So… you'll excuse me if I make some arrangements. If I'm stuck like this for a week, I'm not going to spend it dressed like someone's granddad. Jarvis? Order a typical cross-section of my clothing in this size, enough to last seven days – for speed I'll go for off-the-peg on this occasion…"

"Tony…" Steve's mollifying tone cut in.

"…I want everything here tomorrow morning, sooner if possible…Oh, and let Miss Potts know I'm only contactable by email or text for the moment, don't want her freaking out."

"TONY!" The undeniable authority of the Captain suffused the familiar voice of the genius.

Tony stopped short as he realised that his movement had all but ripped the main support from the beleaguered bed. He relinquished his grip on the now mangled metal.

"Get something to eat Tony." Steve's follow up was as gentle as it was unexpected. Tony and Bruce both glanced askance at him.

"I was hungry earlier so I know you must be hungry now. It'll make controlling that body's strength a whole lot easier if you eat regularly. Believe me." The last two words were stressed with a soft earnestness so characteristic of the Captain even Tony took note.

"Well I could certainly do with something. You ordering in?" Clint sprung down from his perch, forcing himself to grin amiably at Tony's nodded assent. "I'll come with you to the kitchen, see if we can't leave the doors intact as we go…"

"We'll be along shortly. Just want to check this head injury over first." Bruce called after them.

The two men left the room with Tony barking orders at Jarvis and Clint chipping in with his preferences. Bruce opened a bottle he'd retrieved from one of the cabinets and approached Steve with two painkillers and a small glass of water.

"At least you can take something for that headache for once," he grinned encouragingly. Steve took the offered tablets with gratitude.

The doctor looked on with a hint of concern as though trying to work out how to phrase a query while his patient swallowed the medication.

"Is that normal…?" He finally started.

"Nothing normal about this Bruce" Steve looked down at himself and grimaced.

"I mean, the lack of control Tony seems to have in that body at the moment. Is it just something he has to adjust to?"

"Er…probably," Steve was biting at his lower lip, a tell-tale sign for the scientist of the man's anxiety. "It's hard to say. First time I ran in that body after I got the serum, I failed to take a corner properly and shot through a shop window." The small snort of laughter that accompanied the statement was hollow and mirthless as he remembered the exact reasons why he was running on that occasion so long ago.

Bruce nodded "…and the advice to get something to eat?"

"It does help. " Steve paused, trying to separate purely speculative concerns from those he could be more certain about: He didn't want to imply in any way that Tony would somehow be any less capable of adapting to that body than he had been, the man was a genius after all, but the serum as he'd experienced it did have its own unique set of requirements and demands and he wasn't sure how those would affect his teammate.

As if sensing his quandary, Bruce prompted: "If there's anything you think I should be looking out for then tell me. If nothing happens then that's fine, but I think you and I both know that if you don't control the effects of the serum then it'll control you." He smiled ruefully thinking of his own daily battle.

Steve nodded thoughtfully and decided to focus for now on what was most likely to cause problems: Tony's normal lifestyle versus what Captain America's body was used to.

"Back during the war I noticed that when we were in battle, not sleeping or eating regularly, I'd experience an increase in strength, stamina and sensory perception but this was offset by me getting a lot more agitated and even aggressive."

"Sounds like the effects of adrenalin….understandable."

"Thing is, since I woke up, I find that I get like that if I miss any meals or don't get at least a few hours sleep on a regular basis. To offset the energy build-up, I then have to make sure I work out for several hours daily."

"Kind of like putting your body into a sort of "training mode"; maintaining equilibrium."

"I guess so."

Bruce considered this information and realised where Steve's immediate concerns lay. He had a feeling there were several other possibilities bothering him but appreciated there were a lot of unknown variables in this situation; there was at least enough evidence based on what they'd seen so far to suggest this could be a very long week.

"You're not being unreasonable in worrying about this." He said reassuringly. "Whether it's an effect of the serum or just an acquired routine; sudden changes to the way anyone's body is expected to behave can cause problems." He sighed. "Tony has a lot of good points, but I wouldn't put self-discipline anywhere near that list."

_Eat, sleep and exercise regularly…..when had Tony ever done that?_ He thought to himself.

Steve could feel the painkillers beginning to reduce the throbbing headache and slipped himself tentatively off the bed and onto his feet where he was relieved to find himself standing quite steadily. Nonetheless, he could feel the tenseness in his shoulders and stiffness in his lower back from the many hours this body spent hunched over a workbench or peering at a tablet.

"Guess we'll just have to encourage Tony to modify his behaviour for the next week." Observing the Captain rolling his head and shoulders trying to relax his muscles a bit meant Bruce's tone was significantly less optimistic than he'd been aiming for.

"Hmmmm…" growing more accustomed to his new form Steve was now realising that both his hands were covered with a plethora of small cuts and burns. As if to emphasise Tony's habitual neglect, his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly as though it was a very long time since it'd received anything more nourishing than coffee.

The look the two men exchanged negated any need for comment.

"So….I guess if you've got to walk a mile in another man's shoes you may as well start with a stroll to the kitchen." Bruce's effort to swallow his trepidation was well-received. "Bet you're wishing they'd just sent you a pen."

"That's what I said." Steve chuckled at Bruce's attempts to lift the mood. It's only seven days, he consoled himself, they could do this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks once more for the reviews and follows, they are greatly appreciated.  
**

* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter 4**

Clint was curious mix of amusement and amazement as he all but stalked Tony's progress to the kitchen: Leaping in to grab door handles and attempting to steer him if he veered too close to any breakable objects.

"That's gotta feel so weird. What's it like?"

"You said it….wierd!" Tony growled.

"No but seriously…I mean…you definitely got the better end of this deal…"

Tony clenched his teeth with the kind of pressure usually used to release people from crashed vehicles: Just focussing on trying to move the way this body needed him to, as opposed to his usual nimble bearing, was requiring the kind of focus he normally reserved for a suit upgrade.

"Getting the hang of it there big guy." The archer barely managed to stop himself from applauding the first corner successfully negotiated.

"Barton?"

"Yeh?"

"I'm considering testing this body's strength by seeing how many times I can smash you into the ceiling one-handed…and I will if you don't just…..shut the fuck up!" Tony ground out aware that he sounded unnecessarily aggressive but unable to prevent it.

"Don't get grumpy. You'll get the hang of it….after all, Cap did…."

The look Tony gave him suggested to Clint that now would be a good time to make sure all obstacles in the kitchen were cleared away; he mumbled his lame excuse and made an expeditious advance towards their destination.

Without the constant one-sided badinage the genius found he was able, with care, to move a little more easily down the wide and largely clear approach to the kitchen. He was reminded of the early test flights with his suit; finding the correct balance of power to control his movements…._"Just simple scientific principles, small adjustments. I'll be fine." _He inwardly encouraged himself.

As with all "Stark projects", merely succeeding with the principal object of the exercise was deemed insufficient and Tony immediately started to experiment with a gait he felt suited his personality better: Adding a slight spring to his stride was rapidly abandoned when he nearly brained himself; attempting a swagger was an unmitigated disaster and gave entirely the wrong impression judging by his reflection in the elevator door; and a cocky stroll was more like a precipitous jog. His stomach chose this moment to remind him of the original mission by means of a particularly uncomfortable pang so he decided that this would probably have to wait for later – after all, he had a whole seven days to figure out how not to walk like a soldier with a stick up his ass.

He entered the kitchen to find all the chairs tucked neatly under the table, a sight usually only witnessed after housekeeping had been in, and the irritating Hawkeye perched high on top of the refrigerator within easy launching distance of the nearest air vent – just in case the earlier threat was carried through.

A small and unexpected surge of satisfaction coursed through Tony. He was used to respect (well people respected his money at least); he was accustomed to being able to verbally slap down any upstart who dared contradict him (he _was_ a genius by anyone's standards, after all); but he'd never (outside of the suit) commanded the kind of physical presence that would have someone scared enough to even consider taking him seriously when he threatened them with any kind of actual bodily harm.

This, he considered, was an entirely new kind of power….and he couldn't help but feel he rather liked it.

* * *

Steve and Bruce had yet to leave medical. Realising he felt a "little groggy" when they'd started to move, Steve was using the basin in the adjacent bathroom and was currently splashing cold water on his face to allay the wave of nausea that had overtaken him: His overriding concern on waking had been to make sure Tony knew what had happened thus delaying the shock of his own disorientation which had subsequently hit him full force at the first available opportunity.

Wiping his face dry, aware of the unfamiliar roughness of the goatee under the towel, he looked at himself directly in the mirror to be met by an uncompromising but warm pair of brown eyes in return. He leant closer, bracing himself with his arms against the vanity unit and regarded his new form. For someone who rarely worked out, Tony's body was in surprisingly good shape – Steve figured a mix of strong genes and the manual stresses of the workshop and suit had given his host a wiry strength that was lithe and dexterous compared to what he was used to.

Briefly he wondered how different his life would have been if he'd had the good fortune to be born into a strong, healthy body like this one: He doubted he'd have been such as easy target for bullies. Would he have enlisted with Bucky? Served as an ordinary soldier alongside his best friend? Would he have perished in battle or, hopefully, seen out the war before returning to an everyday hero's life – a family, a job and a quiet existence? So much turned on such quirks of fate….there were frequent occasions since he woke up where he felt he would have preferred such an unremarkable life to finding himself trying to acclimate to a world which he didn't really understand or feel he belonged in and, possibly, never truly would….

He sighed inwardly and reminded himself, not for the first time, that "what ifs" were pointless to dwell on. He'd made his choice when he'd volunteered to be part of Project Rebirth and he had to live with the consequences of that choice – the good and the bad.

The arc reactor whirred gently in his chest, speeding up slightly alongside his heart-rate as the familiar, though on this occasion muted, feelings of loss and displacement washed over him.

He placed his hand over the life-sustaining device, finding it to be surprisingly cool through the shirt. Steve had often wondered if it was painful or caused any discomfort and was pleased, for Tony's sake as much as his own, to find it wasn't….but living with that underlying vibration all day, every day ensured it wasn't something you could ever completely forget about.

"_I wonder what Tony really thinks about it…?"_

"Steve?" Bruce's tone held just a little consternation, most probably wondering if the man had collapsed. "Are you okay in there?"

It didn't escape the scientist's notice how carefully the door to the bathroom was opened; the handle was moved tentatively as if the exact pressure needed to accomplish the task was being carefully gauged by someone used to having to use only the gentlest of touches at all times and, for the first time, Bruce found himself wondering to what extent Steve really needed to control every small movement under normal circumstances. He always made it look so easy but watching him now, combined with Tony's clear control issues in the super soldier's body, suggested there could be more to the Captain's rigid demeanour and apparent inability to truly relax around other people than they'd ever really thought about. Sure, there had been plenty of breakages with him and Thor around the Tower, it was almost inevitable with those two in residence, but those for which Steve was responsible only seemed to happen when there was no-one in the room with the man from the 40s….as if that was the only time he allowed his guard down a little….maybe because that was when there was nobody present to whom he could inadvertently cause harm?

"Bruce?" Steve's voice shook him from his reverie.

"Sorry…er….just trying to get my head around all this. Wish I'd just told Dr Leeson to get someone else to look at that stone or better still to just forget about it entirely."

"Bruce, you couldn't possibly have known what was going to happen. It could have been worse…. "

"How so?"

"Well…" Steve thought for a moment before suggesting "….Tony could've been arguing with Natasha….?"

Bruce couldn't resist a smile at the image that conjured up.

"Guess you're feeling better." He grinned weakly.

"I'll be fine, just a bit shaken." It was notable that even on another's face Steve could immediately master the art of a reassuring smile (even if Bruce wasn't sure which of them exactly he was reassuring).

"Shall we see if dinner's ready? I'm starving." Bruce forced an air of normality into his voice as much to assuage his own growing frustration as to calm his friend and leader who, surely, had had far more than anyone could be reasonably expected to deal with thrown at him over the last year.

* * *

Clint was eyeing the increasingly edgy man across the kitchen from him with a growing sense of trepidation.

"Hungry?" He asked at last, remembering what Steve had said.

"You kidding? Hunger pangs I can ignore…and frequently do. But this feels like there's a voracious beast about to climb up my oesophagus and consume my head."

Without climbing down from his perch, the archer pushed the fridge door open and leaned forward to grab a wrapped baguette sandwich from a previously-made supply. He threw it over to see it caught with lightning reflexes.

"Kind of explains why he's so touchy when he hasn't eaten in a while, doesn't it? I've often seen him grab one of those _(indicating the vent suggesting he'd observed from there)_ even when we're just about to eat. Guess he doesn't want to be seen as greedy by being too obvious about it but maybe it's more essential than you'd think."

The move Tony made to unwrap the sandwich and rip off a huge bite was almost involuntary and he'd consumed nearly half before he'd even realised…._ "What is this, some kind of ravening instinct?" _Nonetheless, the calming effect of solid food in his stomach was startling and he was taken aback by just how much better he felt within a short space of time. _"So…absolutely no more teasing him about the food bill then. Poor guy shouldn't have to feel embarrassed about needing to snack if that's how being hungry makes him feel."_ The immediate edge taken off his appetite his eating slowed to a more reasonable rate as he proceeded to eat the rest.

The change in demeanour wasn't lost on Clint who looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. _"Guess we're going to find out all kinds of interesting stuff this week…Thinking of which…."_ He grinned, mischievously.

"So…I guess you haven't had a chance to really check out all the…er….equipment yet?"

As the archer's words registered, Tony's hand involuntarily tightened around the remnants of the sandwich and the filling unceremoniously shot across the kitchen and slid down the far wall. Unwilling to join the erstwhile contents of Tony's snack as a splattered pile of goo on the floor, Clint manfully suppressed the snicker that was rising in his throat and feigned a look of sympathetic innocence as best he could manage.

Tony swallowed, hard, and endeavoured to compose himself: "Well….hasn't exactly been top of my priority list…" he started, before gathering himself more fully and retorting: "Should I be creeped out by your interest in the Captain's junk? Is this a one time thing or should we all be worried?"

"Aw, come on. If I want to see your junk there's plenty of videos online." Clint smirked watching the range of emotions that crossed the open face of the soldier as Tony dealt with the implications of exactly what else he was going to learn about this body over the next seven days. Even as a relative stranger to the concepts of "tact" and "discretion" Tony Stark recognised there was _definitely_ such a thing as 'too much information'.

"Believe me, those videos really don't do me justice." Tony managed, barely, to sound more like his old self.

"Well perhaps I'll get Steve's opinion on…" Clint was cut off by the mashed remainder of the sandwich catching him full in the face with a force that made him glad it wasn't anything more solid.

"Good to see everyone's being so mature about this." Natasha breezed in carrying a pile of pizza boxes and wearing an expression that suggested she'd been privy to at least part of that conversation.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony was quite capable of feeling embarrassment but, under normal circumstances, he generally took full advantage of the fact he'd been blessed with a skin type that didn't flush particularly readily and a well-developed air of bravado that served to distract people with relative ease….so it was with particular horror that he registered a light, but tangible, flush rising up his cheeks at her untimely arrival.

"_Shit! Something else to worry about!" _

It was hard to tell with the Russian, but he sensed something that might possibly be a smirk was playing behind those impassive eyes….

The awkward moment was defused by the entrance of Bruce and Steve drawn in by the appetising aroma of pizza. Tony was astounded at the fact he actually wanted to eat again so soon…and not just a little bit either.

"_So I just have to spend a week eating like I'm being fattened up for slaughter and trying not to kill anyone taking the top off the milk and everything'll be fine…..no problem!"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Five**

Early morning the next day, Bruce carried his cup of (hopefully) relaxing herbal tea carefully, heading for a quiet corner of the lounge. His thoughts were a melee of reactions to the events of the last evening; the nagging, persistent feeling of his own (inadvertent) responsibility for the situation; and the stress of pushing back the Other Guy's prowling at the back of his mind, anxious and unsettled at what had happened.

He pinched the crease of skin between his eyes, forcing a less than wholly convincing wave of self-reassurance through his very being. Taking a long draught of his rapidly cooling tea, he relaxed back into a large and comfy chair in the corner hopeful of finding a blissful few moments of quiet ease before he resumed attempting to rationalise the situation.

Temporarily clearing his mind, he breathed slowly and deeply. On the face of it, things were about as good as could be hoped under the circumstances…and yet…

Casting his mind back to the meal they had all shared, he attempted to isolate what was really bothering him over and above the obvious.

There was no precedent for as bizarre a situation as the one in which they'd found themselves and the atmosphere had been an odd mix of awkwardness and forced levity. Tony, finding physical movement – as predicted – far easier to gauge once his hunger had abated had reasserted his usual personality (and then some): His arms, always a veritable windmill punctuating his speech, had been even more animated than usual and it was with some relief that everyone made the most of the additional space afforded by Thor's absence to implement an informal exclusion zone around Tony to avoid the large, flailing hands as he hypothesised about the means the aliens may have used to achieve the transference; related the experience (as he saw it) of being a super-soldier; and persisted in launching periodic jibes at Steve as to all the "fun" he could and should be having in the serum-enhanced body as well as goading him about how he might want to spend his week as one of the World's most famous and sexy (Tony's description) men.

Bruce recalled glancing over at Steve, sitting quietly to one end of the table, and briefly catching his eyes at that point: The man had sat calmly, shrugging off the ribald remarks with a tired, resigned demeanour and a surprising, for him, lack of blushing. He'd also observed what looked suspiciously like an eye-roll from the ever-controlled Natasha. Tony's typical way of dealing with any occurrence with which he was uncomfortable was to brazen it out – this seemed one such occasion…only it was just…Bruce crimped his eyes trying to specify exactly what it was….just…_more so?_

That was it! Bruce's tired and stressed brain zeroed in on what had been bothering him.

It was like all the dials on Tony's personality had been edged up several notches….and Steve the opposite: The latter was even quieter and more reserved than normal.

Never one to make assumptions on so little evidence, Bruce balanced his initial theory with an allowance for the two of them adjusting to their changed situations, possible shock reaction and the fact that Tony, full on, was pretty hard going at the best of times (which this most certainly wasn't) but even so…

He resolved to speak to Steve about it as soon as possible.

Thinking of which reminded him that he hadn't actually seen the man since dinner. Tony had dragged the physicist off to the lab to investigate the technology used to transfer their personalities: This had basically meant an increasingly tired, fractious and stressed Bruce had been subjected to a couple of hours of a fully-amped billionaire genius furiously crunching numbers and testing data, all of which served to prove nothing more than they possessed no technology that could detect that anything had happened at all.

Finally, unable to adquately control his own emotions to sufficiently guarantee everyone's safety, Bruce had made his excuses and left for some much-needed meditation after (mindful of what Steve had said) strongly recommending Tony get some rest. He remained unsure whether that advice had been heeded and was reluctant, having worked hard to attain his current state of relative calm, to question Jarvis on the subject for fear of the likely answer, although the AI had confirmed that he was monitoring both men for any abnormalities in their vital signs.

A slight movement caught his eyes and, momentarily, the sylph-like form of the Black Widow slid into the chair a few feet away. She leaned forward regarding him with a look of concern.

"Are you OK Bruce?" She asked softly.

"Just peachy," he ground out. "I've decommissioned both Captain America and Iron Man and I didn't even need the Other Guy to do it." He paused, knowing it was pointless to keep berating himself. "How was Steve last night after I got dragooned into going to the lab? Have you seen him this morning?"

"He was pretty quiet…I mean even by his standards." She grinned mirthlessly. "Clint was still pretty hyped up and kept teasing him like Tony had so he just said he was going to get an early night."

"Not sure Tony had a lot of sleep the night before. I guess that body probably needed it."

Natasha nodded even though she only partially agreed with the suggestion.

"Jarvis? Where is Steve this morning? Is he OK?" She asked.

"Captain Rogers has apprised himself of any and all health considerations concerning Mr Stark's body and, after a short workout, has taken breakfast and is now on the viewing balcony, sketching. He appears calm and quite well." The AI's unusually detailed response was couched in a tone that could be described as "approving", as if he wished the body's usual occupant would behave with such consideration for it once in a while. Natasha and Bruce were inclined to concur.

"…and Tony?" Bruce inquired more nervously.

"Mr Stark slept for approximately 2.1 hours on the couch in the lab last night. He is currently working on a variety of projects and appears to be getting frustrated with his lack of progress in all of them. He has not yet eaten today." Jarvis was using what Clint termed his "nanny" tone for this information.

"The fool." Bruce scowled. The fact that Jarvis' had seen fit to note that Tony was getting frustrated particularly worried him. "He needs to realise he can't run that body like he does his own. Guess I'd better go and get him out of there."

"No, I'll go get him. " Natasha interjected quickly, concerned that Bruce was almost more stressed than either of the two who had been affected by this. "You go have a chat to Steve, It's bothering me that he's almost too calm about this. He's had so much happen to him already, you have to wonder how much more he can take."

She had a point, Bruce conceded. It was almost assumed that Steve would face all adversity with his trademark stoicism and calm, but really, just how realistic was that under these circumstances? He nodded his assent to Natasha agreeing that if Tony was starting to amp himself up to a particular level of fatigued Tony-ness in the super-soldier's body then it was probably best for the structural integrity of the Tower if Hulk was nowhere near him when it happened. The thought occurred to him that Thor was due back later that day and he smiled: It was very possible Mjölnir could come in handy at points over the next few days should the situation demand it.

Pausing only to grab a jacket to guard against the chill early-spring air, Bruce headed off to the viewing balcony.

He discovered his quarry, wrapped in a large sweatshirt, huddled on a bench at the far end of the balcony, regarding the skyline with rapt concentration and not even looking at the lines as his hand guided the pencil across the sketch pad. Bruce moved closer and cleared his throat to signify his presence realising that, without super-hearing, Steve may not have realised he was there and not wanting to make him jump. The man looked up at him with a soft smile.

"Good morning Bruce. How are you feeling?" He asked, ever polite. Bruce sat on the other bench over by the balustrade so that he didn't interrupt Steve's view as he'd now returned his eyes to the subject of his drawing.

"I'm okay thanks. You?"

"Adjusting." Steve stated simply, glancing between the sheet before him and the view and using his finger to lightly smudge an area of graphite on the page. "Did you and Tony find out anything about how they did….this?" He indicated himself, looking over at the scientist with an unreadable expression.

Bruce shook his head.

"Whatever it was, it's way beyond anything we know of. You can't scan for something that, within our science, doesn't exist."

"Maybe it's magic? Thor's back later. Perhaps he'll have some ideas."

Bruce had to conclude that wasn't as crazy a suggestion as it initially sounded. After all, what Thor referred to as "magic" was just alien science:

"Perhaps we should have had you down in the lab last night. That might just be the most sensible suggestion so far." He smiled tiredly.

"How is Tony?" Steve asked cautiously.

"Probably not adapting as well as you." Bruce replied watching as the fine fingers dexterously completed some minute detail on the sketch. "May I?" He held his hand out to look at the drawing, Steve quirked his head slightly, unused to any of the others taking an interest in his solitary hobby, but handed the pad over anyway.

Bruce looked over the sketch. He knew Steve drew to relax when time permitted but hadn't really seen any of his work before. He found himself considerably more impressed than he anticipated: The skyline as drawn was vibrant and visceral, soft lines giving the impression of life oozing out of every pore of the cement and glass: The city as a single breathing entity. Without waiting for permission, he flipped down the previous page to the last drawing: It was the same scene dated just a few days previous, but _very_ different in style and realisation; lines were harder, proportions were perfectly replicated, it was precise like a photograph; the artistry was still inherent in it but it was more…restrained. Whilst both were wonderful representations in their own way, this morning's drawing was somehow…free in its expression, more of an artistic interpretation….genuine art!

He moved to pull down another page but the book was wrested gently but firmly from his grasp with an almost apologetic smile. Bruce released it reluctantly but understanding that some of the other sketches were probably more personal. Perhaps, he considered, if he made more of an effort to get to know Steve better he'd be more inclined to share them. He wondered how he could have lived under the same roof and worked alongside the man for so many months and not realised how talented an artist he was.

Steve had closed the book and was simply gazing at the cityscape when he broke the silence edging between them before it could become too awkward:

"It took me ages to learn how to hold a pencil without breaking it after they gave me the serum: Thought at first I'd sacrificed ever being able to draw again for the chance to fight. But in time I leaned how to control my strength enough to be able to do it again. It's not quite the same but it's something."

"Both sketches are great…" Bruce commented, "…just…different."

"It felt good to just be able to relax and draw naturally this morning. It's been a long time since I could. The other sketch….is the compromise I have to make as a result of my own choice." Steve looked directly at his companion. "Tony's never needed to learn to compromise and this situation is hardly his choice. This week may be...difficult for him."

Bruce nodded, feeling more convinced than ever that his earlier suspicions were correct and he appreciated Steve's circumspection but also his empathy: Tony was a good man with many admirable traits but he also had his fair share of demons…

"Will you talk to him?"

"Unfortunately I always seem to bring the worst out in Tony. I don't think it would be a good idea at the moment, do you?"

"You're probably right at that." Another thought occurred. "You're the strategist Steve, you'll have considered all the eventualities. Have you thought about what you'll do if this is…er…permanent?"

Steve rubbed his hand over his chin in what, initially, seemed like a thoughtful pose.

"Shave." He answered. "This thing's irritating beyond belief."

Bruce snorted with laughter at the unexpected response and was just trying to formulate some kind of reply when Jarvis interrupted:

"Captain Rogers, Doctor Banner, I believe you should be informed that there appears to be an "incident" taking place in the lab."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Not sure this chapter didn't work better in my head than it does in type. But there is a point in all this - just hope I'm gradually getting it across.  
**

* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Six**

_25 minutes earlier:_

Natasha left Bruce to go see Tony as agreed. Her elegant stride an object lesson in studied indifference – a skill she'd long since honed.

Everything about this situation was unsettling: Her training and life to date had taught her it never paid to care; even her "partnership" with Clint was, she'd convinced herself, forged from pragmatism rather than emotion – their understanding gave them an advantage in the field, no more, no less. And yet, initially against what she'd considered to be her better judgement, she'd come to expand those "practical" considerations to this incongruous group of individuals who'd become a team: Her team.

Her….family?

She inwardly chastised herself for such a mawkish train of thought: The present situation left the team vulnerable, ineffective….compromised. That's all! And if she felt an unexpected pang of concern for the anguished look of stress furrowing Bruce's brow or shuddered at the unimaginable losses suffered by the soldier deprived by fate of his own time, everyone he knew and now his own body…? Well…they were Avengers, "weird" is integral to the job description. This is a situation they must manage, like any other, with self-discipline, responsibility and self-control….and as for a certain egotistical, genius, playboy for whom all of those concepts were entirely alien….he may just have to accept there are some things that can't be fixed with some new technology or a pile of money.

She forcibly composed her expression to default 'unreadable' as she reached the door to the lab. She'd seen Tony at his most vulnerable and self-destructive. She knew, from experience, that his reactions to the extraordinary could rarely be classified as appropriate or predictable. Drawing a deep breath, she requested admittance.

Jarvis, unusually, deemed her visit sufficiently essential that he allowed her access unquestioned – the ramifications of that alone were not missed by her astute mind. She entered to find multiple holographic blueprints displayed from every projection unit, numerous part-finished (and some broken) bits of technology, a mostly empty bottle of Scotch and, at the centre of it all, Tony in the midst of a major tantrum, throwing what looked like a modified Iron Man gauntlet against the far wall.

She observed, silently, as he used the extreme strength he now had at his disposal to reduce the unit to little more than fragmented pieces of metal and circuit boards. So absorbed was he in his destruction that, even with super-hearing, he failed to notice her presence until he finally started to calm a little.

"Checking up on me?" He ground out with a visible effort at control, only partially turned towards her.

"Undertaking some radical modifications I see." She side-stepped the question with aplomb.

"Wasn't working."

"Apparently."

Natasha moved around the room, carefully avoiding getting too close to the tense man whilst successfully avoiding any appearance of deliberately doing so. The varied projects outlined by the holograms suggested a phenomenal amount of work had been undertaken in the last few hours with none of it having come to fruition. She gazed intently at each one, waiting patiently to see what information, if any, by way of explanation would be forthcoming. Presently, Tony obliged, unable to remain silent any longer:

"It's like ideas exploding in my brain and I have to focus on all of them immediately…" he started. "…but I haven't got the manual control to do the fine work so I can't complete any of it. Guess our resident militarised Neanderthal doesn't have this problem, Mr One-thing-at-a-time…."

The not-so-subtle shift from the customarily witty (if occasionally acerbic) sarcasm to the entirely unnecessary level of insult in the genius' speech was not missed, but the spy effectively hid the irritation it evoked (though inwardly she bristled). Whilst she regretted their leader's continued reserved demeanour in all matters private and personal, she had been far from unimpressed with his intelligence as she had observed him over the last few months. She doubted any of them (even possibly the two certified geniuses of the team) would have learned or adapted significantly faster than he had in the event they had found themselves thrust so far into the future – and she knew with certainty that none of them would have conducted themselves with such good grace, under exceptionally trying circumstances, as the soldier had.

Nonetheless, the salient point of what Tony had just said was clear. His brilliant, but frequently crowded, mind was erratic and unpredictable under normal circumstances – his admission at this point in time was…._worrying_.

"Bruce is concerned you haven't eaten yet today. It seemed to help last night." She steadied her voice with considerable professionalism.

"I had breakfast", his head indicated the Scotch. He shrugged disgustedly: "I always thought he was exaggerating the 'can't get drunk' spiel. This serum should come with an off switch."

And there it was in a nutshell: Tony fuelled his creative focus with caffeine and 'switched off', when it all became too much, with alcohol: Both of which were now ineffectual…..and he had no idea how to function any differently. Natasha frowned thoughtfully.

It was becoming a priority that he learned how to….and fast!

She regarded him cautiously. He'd turned his attention back to one of the temporarily abandoned holographic designs (for what she had no idea). Presumably, at some point during the last few hours, he'd bothered to shower or had, at least, taken the time to change and was now wearing what was, presumably, the contents of one of the many bags and boxes that had been delivered earlier that morning. She considered that an approximation of normal Tony Stark attire looked somehow incredibly inappropriate and just plain 'wrong' on Steve Rogers' muscular form. Time for some straight talking she decided:

"You have to get a grip on this Tony. Bruce is stressed enough with everything and I don't think any of us want The Hulk wading into this mess. Now you need to eat something and take some exercise to burn off all that energy; you're going to have to play the hand you've been dealt for the next few days." It was not without a substantial effort that Natasha resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back with that last statement – they'd better not have been bullshitting about the time limit on this.

Tony's overly stimulated mind absorbed her words and instantly opted to respond to only those parts he had any interest in working with.

"So the only way to behave in this body is like one-dimensional Captain Cardboard?" He sneered in disgust. "Just because he doesn't have any imagination, that's _my_ only option?"

"I don't think anyone's saying that Tony." Natasha stated coolly. "It's been less than 24 hours and you're still adjusting but you can't just carry on as you normally do." She indicated the remnants of the smashed gauntlet with her head.

"Why not?" He stepped towards her, the normally open, honest face distorted by an uncharacteristically unpleasant expression, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why is his way the only way? After all, there are other ways to burn energy than annihilating punching bags."

He'd moved uncomfortably close to his companion and she fought the urge to step back, refusing to be intimidated – it occurred to her that Steve would never use his size to threaten anyone outside of the battlefield; even in his arguments with Tony (some of which were pretty heated) he'd never consider using his physical presence to force his opinion or ideas on someone and yet, at this moment, she felt unusually uncomfortable.

Natasha quirked her head slightly, unwilling to show any outward response to her inner sense of disquiet. A large hand reached up and pushed flat against the wall just to the left of her head trapping her effectively between the super-soldier's body and the hard, unyielding surface, his face lowered to stare down at her:

"I'm perfectly willing to participate in a little…..stress-relieving exercise. If you'd care to help…."

For the briefest of moments, Natasha was aware that the more hormonal areas of her thought processes actually gave some serious consideration to what it had just heard: Mercifully, her rationality kicked in with only the most momentary of delays – she wasn't about to risk whatever it was she had here for the sake of….curiosity.

"After all," Tony continued, "it's not like you haven't thought about it. I've seen you looking and I guarantee this is one piece of kit you'd really love getting to grips with. Only he wouldn't be interested in the whole 'no strings' deal. Fortunately, I'm not encumbered by such concerns. It'd be our little secret."

"That's crass even by your standards Stark." She snarled. "Not even a day in that body and you're already trying to abuse it."

He leaned back slightly; vaguely aware he was probably pushing his luck but somehow unable to stop himself from pursuing the issue further.

"Where's the abuse? You suggested I give this body some exercise - I'm just thinking about some of the alternatives he never considers. Who knows? It could save me a fortune in punching bags in the future." He winked and tried a 'winning' Tony Stark smile but the facial muscles of his host's face didn't co-operate and, to Natasha, the look bordered on slightly manic.

It was probably fair to say that neither of them was exactly clear what happened next.

Natasha had reached the point where this had gone way too far in her estimation. Unwilling to damage the body of the man who had no responsibility in this matter, she resorted to delivering a finger jab to a sensitive spot just below the ribs. She'd used the move previously in sparring sessions with the Captain and, generally, it just caused enough discomfort for her to move out of his reach: Not so on this occasion as, almost instantaneously, she received a backhand across the face that sent her sprawling across the room.

It was at that moment that Bruce and Steve arrived in the workshop, stunned by the sight which greeted them.

Tony stood stock still, a look of dawning horror on his face at his involuntary over-reaction. Natasha wiped the small dribble of blood from her split lip and looked ready to kill her assailant; Steve was by her side instantly, checking the severity of her injury and beckoning Bruce to assist her. She appeared no more than a little stunned, and very shocked (the trust between the members of the team was such that, despite any number of threats that were regularly exchanged, actual violence was extremely rare). A small nod from the unfamiliar form of the leader she trusted however was enough for her to at least postpone the vengeance she was considering, albeit reluctantly.

With a few murmured instructions, Steve encouraged Bruce to accompany her to the medical room, reassuring them both that he would be fine – in many ways he was more concerned with their likely reactions than the perpetrator of the assault.

It was more in shock at the behaviour that had taken place than the damage it had, in reality, inflicted that the two of them left the room. Bruce focussed on Natasha's well-being, even though the injury was likely among the most minor she had ever received, in an effort to subdue the restless, angry presence straining at the back of his consciousness; Natasha carefully controlled her own anger, intent on drawing the scientist's attention by exaggerating her need for help, her principle concern being that, whatever it was that had just happened, an appearance by the Other Guy was unlikely to make a positive contribution to the situation.

Tony stood, distraught and shaken at what he'd done: It was like his body had reacted without any input from him whatsoever. He regarded his own hand as though doubtful he was actually attached to it. He was aware that only he and the Captain remained: He attempted to brace himself for the diatribe of disgust and disappointment he knew was coming and, for once, wasn't even going to begin to try and defend against.

What he heard was about as far as possible from the anticipated remonstration:

"I'm so sorry Tony. None of this is your fault. Are you alright?"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Thanks to those who reviewed, favourited and followed: As always much appreciated.  
**

**Have just started a new job after a bit of a layoff so updates will be as and when I am able - bear with me, I will get it done.  
**

* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Seven**

Tony regarded Steve with complete amazement at what he'd heard.

"I hit Natasha. You know? The scary Russian assassin, the one who probably has me high on her hit list right about now I may add. I hit her and I…."

"….didn't realise you were going to, until it had happened."

Tony nodded miserably.

"You're finding everything you do and feel is a lot more intense than you would expect…?" The question was stated flatly as if seeking confirmation rather than merely speculating: Again, the genius concurred.

"Let me guess….the rib poke?"

"How did you know?"

"She likes that move. Often uses it when we're sparring. Doesn't do any harm but smarts like crazy."

Under normal circumstances, Tony would be intensely irritated by being at a disadvantage in the conversation, but the shock at his own actions had left him numb. Moreover, he realised, despite his having the upper hand for once, there was no sense that Steve was in any way gloating: In fact he just seemed…apologetic?

"I should have tried to warn you this might happen….I….kind of hoped it was just me still…adjusting…. and that you wouldn't experience this." Steve looked ashamed, as though he'd just admitted to some terrible weakness.

"So the serum causes every reaction or emotion to be massively exaggerated? All the time?"

"That's about it…" Steve continued, repeating what he'd told Bruce. Tony was shocked, or more appalled, as a plethora of images, recollections of some of their previous interactions, assaulted his mind.

In battle, Tony, with his wealth of pertinent knowledge, would tend to communicate his input clearly and concisely; Steve was always quick to assimilate useful information and factor it into his strategy: It was one of the principal reasons the two functioned so well together under duress.

On the other hand, outside of battle, most of their interactions were confined to basic civilities and team activities other than when Steve felt Tony may have overstepped the mark in some way: In fairness, Tony usually had, and was aware of the fact, unfortunately, that didn't usually mean he wanted to be told about it. He'd laughed to himself so many times when he'd deflected the "lecture" by obfuscating his responses in overly-complex technological jargon and cultural references he knew would knock the Captain off-balance; he'd amused himself with the satisfaction of having 'wound the old man up'….now he realised, all those times he'd watched the soldier tense up, clenching his fists and setting his jaw in response to the puerile behaviour, it was because he was trying _not_ to react in the way Tony had himself illustrated so graphically earlier.

Tony experienced yet another swing of those serum-enhanced emotions as he felt about as small and petty as was possible.

As if sensing this, Steve grimaced and shook his head:

"Dr Erskine said the serum amplifies everything about a man: I don't think even he realised to what extent that was true. I'll help you all I can until things are back to normal Tony."

The genius regarded the familiar form before him, inhabited as it was presently by the man he'd previously both respected and disrespected in more or less equal measures - a good man, a hero but also a relic of a bygone era and an over-zealous boy scout in his opinion – and marvelled at the strength of will he'd shown in this new, strange (for him) century when he, with the advantage of actually being wholly accustomed to this environment, had all but lost it within 24 hours of living with the pressure of the largely untried wartime "enhancement".

"How do you do it?" He heard himself ask softly.

"Too dumb to do anything else I guess." The reply was accompanied by an easy grin. "The serum was designed for grunts used to following orders and not over-thinking things, not for a mind like yours."

Tony looked at him through narrowed and disbelieving eyes, not buying his answer for a moment. Despite his frequent verbal jabs to the contrary, he was well aware Steve's disadvantage was his understandable lack of essential current knowledge and familiarity with the modern world rather than any intellectual deficiency on his part.

At that moment, a loud clap of thunder and a noise near the top of the tower had Jarvis interrupt:

"Sir, it appears Mr Odinson has returned."

"Best get something to eat then before all the food goes." Steve smiled. "We can talk later", he added softly.

That was how he did it, Tony concluded as he made his way carefully out of the lab, endeavouring to collide with as few objects as possible. Whatever his feelings of anger, resentment or grief, Steve's consideration for the well-being of others and complete lack of ego always took precedence. Well Tony knew he wasn't that good (precious few are), but he could and _must _be better – for a few days at least….he'd prove all of them who thought he was too weak-willed to exercise a bit of self-discipline wrong….he'd show them that he wasn't just a spoiled playboy with no thought for the consequences of his actions….he'd…

"Tony. Doors work better when they remain on their hinges…."

"Oh….er….sure…Jarvis…?"

"Maintenance bots despatched Sir." The AI's voice responded calmly.

Tony looked for evidence of any ridicule on his companion's face but only saw a wistful smile of empathy as he placed the displaced item carefully against the wall.

"I ripped a train door clean off its hinges once on one of my bad days with the USO…" Steve stated airily, resuming his approach to the elevator, "…I don't think that made the propaganda newsreels though."

"I'll bet it didn't" Tony grinned in relief and amusement, "…any other incidents like that?" He caught up in no more than a couple of his elongated strides.

His question was met with a faintly nostalgic and definitely mischievous smirk.

* * *

Initially, Tony was relieved to find lunch wasn't anything like as awkward as it could have been.

Natasha's enhanced healing, whilst not on a par with Captain America's, was doing an excellent job of reducing the swelling to the side of her face and her normal stoic response to any kind of pain or discomfort meant she showed little or no acknowledgement of it. It was unclear what Bruce may have told her about the situation but she seemed to have accepted that it was largely inadvertent; either that, Tony contemplated, or she was contemplating a particularly nasty fate for him once he was returned to his own body. Either way, for the time being, retribution seemed to be on hold and, he figured, that was about as good as it was going to get.

Clint glared askance at the state of her face but, well trained from years of cooperation on the field, was deterred from verbalising his query by her responding with one withering look in his direction – it didn't stop him shooting furtive glances around the seated assembly trying to ascertain exactly what had happened though.

Bruce took his lead from Steve's calm demeanour and was clearly doing his best to draw strength from it – nonetheless, the group's familiarity with his behaviour suggested that any more instances that exacerbated his tension or deep-seated guilt over the situation could easily be the straw that would break the proverbial camel's back and, for once, even Clint seemed to be prepared to be sensitive to that possibility.

Thor, once apprised of what had happened, was deeply concerned and perplexed. Presumably, such oddities as body-swapping were, if not commonplace, at least not totally unheard of on Asgard as he accepted and adapted to his team-mates' situation quite easily. On the other hand, he mulled over the precise circumstances under which it had occurred with his brow furrowed in concentration. Eventually, he spoke:

"Such magic has been known to be enacted from time to time among my people, indeed my own brother has performed such feats, but this story with the carved stone is particularly familiar to me: There is a story told as a salutary tale to Asgardian children which relates a happening I believe has some foundation in truth. It concerns two brothers who found such an artefact during a minor quarrel and were thus transformed as you were my friends."

"What happens in the story?" Bruce asked.

Thor looked a little uncomfortable.

"It is many years since I was told the tale but I recall it does not end happily. In the story as it was related to me, both brothers died." He looked around and hastily added, "I must stress that many such stories are told as a means of educating and cautioning youngsters against certain behaviours and as such may have been adapted or changed in order to be more….dramatic…in enforcing their message."

"Is there any way of finding out where the story originated or what really happened?" Natasha's voice held a clear note of concern.

"Possibly." Thor pondered. "If, as it appears, the stone was incarcerated around 3000 years ago then it is possible the origins of this story took place at a similar time for my people. There may be some reference in our archives. I will contact the historians on Asgard and see if they are able to locate any reference, I will also see if there exists any other knowledge which may help to reverse this." He smiled comfortingly. "Fear not, I am sure this is no more than a temporary state of being." His effort at reassurance was appreciated if not wholly convincing.

"Did you say the stone was 'incarcerated'?" Tony's interest was piqued by the specific choice of words.

"I did." Thor confirmed. "As the good doctor has explained to me, the stone was hidden well in a place apparently created for that purpose and designed not to be easily found. The nomenclature would seem appropriate under such circumstances."

"Did the notes that arrived with it say anything else about the dig site Bruce?" Steve recalled the sheaf of papers that had arrived in the parcel.

"Only that it was an Iron Age settlement in modern-day Ukraine that showed signs of having been abandoned quite suddenly." Bruce replied thoughtfully. "I mean that wasn't uncommon in those times; small social groups would often relocate quite suddenly back then because of disease, a problem with a neighbouring settlement, lack of food…."

"…or terrified out of their wits by an unexplained artefact….evil spirits?" Tony interjected.

"A very common reaction among primitive cultures." The alien deemed a god in Norse mythology concurred, completely oblivious to any irony in his statement: Fortunately, everyone was too depressed by the line the discussion had taken to make anything of it.

Tony revised his original opinion: So lunch was totally awkward after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Eight**

The group disbanded as the meal came to an end, each keen to pursue their own personal agendas for the afternoon.

Thor went off on his own to communicate with the archivists on Asgard by his own means; a long-winded and complicated process that none of the others even attempted to understand. Clint cajoled Natasha into joining him the workout room under the guise of "sparring" but, almost certainly, as a means to ascertain precisely what had happened earlier: Tony suspected he wouldn't be Mr Popular once that story was told.

Bruce, reassured that an unusually compliant Tony would allow himself to be guided by Steve's experience for a few hours at least, decided to get some rest; Hulk's continuing agitation over the situation concerning the two members of the team for whom he felt the greatest affiliation (affection would be way too strong a word) was exhausting to the beleaguered scientist's mind and body. He excused himself leaving the two men alone to the lingering silence that had descended towards the end of the meal.

Initially, both seemed reluctant to be first to speak: Steve stacked plates neatly into the dishwasher with a zeal that suggested he was relishing the nimble dexterity of his new hands and in distinct contrast to his more measured, customary manner; Tony fidgeted with the condiments and jars left on the table (truth was, he had no idea where they went as, normally, he would have been among the first to vacate the area).

When they finally decided to say something, they spoke simultaneously:

"Talk?"

"Swim!"

"Swim?"

"…and talk at the same time if you like. I could do with some exercise too." Steve smiled amiably, achieving a satisfactory compromise with an ease and simple eloquence that left Tony with no choice but to agree. He indicated with a small gesture to leave the remaining items and lightly stepped towards the door.

"Why swim?" Tony queried, closing the distance between them instantly.

"Jogging outside is out of the question…"

"Fair point." They entered the elevator.

"You'd bust the treadmill in a matter of seconds…"

"Really? That bad?" This received an affirming nod as they descended to the pool floor.

"….and I don't think the punching bag's a good idea at the moment." Steve ventured cautiously as they came to a halt at their destination.

"Yeah….I guess not…." Tony concurred thoughtfully, "…but….well….I'm not much of a swimmer….really…."

"Don't worry, that body is." Steve disappeared towards the changing area with a reassuring grin leaving Tony to ponder the odd phraseology employed. Shrugging, he set off to change, hopeful answers would be forthcoming in due course.

Tony soon realised _exactly_ what Steve had meant. In truth, Tony wasn't actually a bad swimmer, he just chose not to do all that much of it: Much of the purpose behind his having a large and luxurious pool facility at each and every one of his dwellings was a) he was a billionaire and therefore people expected as much and b) an excuse to have his various house-guests over the years parade around in a state of undress. As a result, he'd generally tended to spend far more time "mingling" with said house-guests than swimming.

However, as he approached the water on this occasion – Steve already happily ploughing a sedate but technically adequate freestyle along one side of the pool – and before he barely had time to realise what he was doing, he found himself executing a perfect dive from one end of the pool and, with just a couple of powerful strokes, he'd swum almost the entire length underwater; he emerged close to the end of the pool and, briefly, panicked that his own momentum was about to carry him into the poolside when, involuntarily, he flipped over and tumble-turned his way back into the middle of the pool. He surfaced, blinking and scarcely breathless, astounded at whatever it was that had just happened….Muscle-memory?...Instinct? Whilst he knew how to do all those things and, in his youth, had even aspired, from time to time, to be able to showboat like that at pool parties, he'd never come close to achieving anything as….well…_athletic_.

Steve had completed a couple of lengths before taking a short breather to watch Tony's little display; suppressing a grin at the look of astonishment and enjoyment on his face as the man trod water assimilating what he'd just done.

Fleetingly, Steve thought back to his first understanding of the sheer physical prowess engendered by the serum when, chasing Dr Erskine's killer, he'd known without any shadow of a doubt that he could hurdle that high gate and catch the submarine at the docks (in spite of the fact that the bulk of his previous swimming experience had largely come in the form of having to save himself after the bullies, who had tormented so much of his early life, had thrown him in those same docks – not to mention the ensuing respiratory infection that had left him bedridden for almost a week afterwards). He paused: It felt good to be able to reflect on his past without being overwhelmed by it all. The sense of loss and grief was no less keen but it was more tolerable and less exaggerated than he had become accustomed to and left him able to temper it with the feelings of fondness for those to whom he had been close, taking comfort in the fact that, whilst he may have only have had them for a short time, at least he had those moments to treasure in the first place. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing in the pleasant warmth of the pool and took a few brief but pleasurable seconds to simply float, the only sounds the gentle swish of the waves created as Tony cut effortlessly through the water.

Tony, meanwhile, found himself becoming increasingly relaxed as, barely even trying, he covered length after length of the pool, revelling in the efficient elegance of the well-muscled form and the sense that, for the first time since the transfer took place, he had no need to exercise restraint over every movement: He spared a glance over to his companion and considered how much of a relief this sensation must be for him on a daily basis and comprehending for the first time exactly why the soldier spent so much time working out: He could almost feel the tension bleeding out of his muscles and into the water as he pushed himself just a little and realised:

"This pool's way too small! Why did you never say anything…?"

Shaken from his reverie, Steve righted himself to regard the indignant billionaire with bemusement.

"It's already as wide as the entire floor. It's hard to see how it can get any bigger."

"But it's not enough. I'm not even pushing myself and yet I'm constantly turning around. You must feel like a hamster on a wheel. You should have said something."

"Tony, the pool, the gym….well everything here," Steve looked around him trying to find the words he wanted without sounding like the poor relation he usually felt he was in this modern world; eventually, figuring Tony would probably mock him no matter what he said, he settled on the truth and how he sounded be damned. "The facilities, the comfort, all the things you've done and given me are so much more than I've ever had. I wouldn't dream of being so ungrateful as to ask for any more."

To his astonishment, Tony's reaction was the complete opposite of what he anticipated.

"Why the hell not? Everyone else is always badgering me for something or another: Birdbrain always wants his arrows or the practise range upgraded; Widow….well she doesn't ask, she just strongly implies it would be 'in my best interests' to upgrade her stingers or training program; the Directors of the company that make Pop Tarts have probably all bought private islands on the proceeds of what I've spent with them in the last 6 months; and Bruce well, he was blown away by the facilities at first, but now scarcely a week goes by without him dropping hints about some new piece of equipment he's read about: And you? What have you asked for? Nothing!"

"You improved the punch bags for me."

"Only because the maintenance bots were burning out with constantly having to clear up the debris of the original ones…"

"Sorry," said Steve, looking ashamed.

"No! I don't want you to apologise. I want you to tell me how I can make things here better for you. Stop acting like you think you're living on some kind of charity. All the things everyone else wants are just 'nice-to-haves', I'm just starting to realise that proper facilities for you could make a real difference to how you feel…."

Tony drew breath, registering the veracity of his own words and recognising that now familiar surge in his emotions whenever he felt even remotely strongly about something.

Steve had obviously realised what was happening as well. His smile was almost indulgent as he said:

"Tony, you're the genius. If you want to do something I've no doubt you can. But please, don't spend too much time or money on the project."

"Billionaire….philanthropist….." Tony grumbled as he resumed his swim. "I'll spend what I want on who I want."

"Thank you then." Tony heard his own voice resonate with genuine sincerity. "I'm sure it'll be amazing."

Steve resumed his swim barely suppressing a chuckle at the conundrum that was Tony Stark. In the months he'd lived at the Tower he'd come to realise how disparate the basic chronological facts concerning the man given to him by SHIELD, on which he'd based his initial opinion, and the reality really was: In truth the inventor was almost limitlessly kind, generous and brave. Indeed, the only thing that really irritated him about Tony now, and the source of most of their (largely) superficial conflicts, was the lack of value the man put upon himself and his contribution to the team; a trait the Avengers' leader found both worrisome and unfathomable particularly when juxtaposed against what he'd come to recognise as a well-practised façade of arrogance and sarcasm.

He pushed his way through the water feeling the slight pull on the muscles and the gentle twinges of, what he assumed was, typical fatigue. He pondered that this was probably what 'normal' tiredness felt like: His previous points of reference being either the inherent, debilitating weakness of his original body or the almost indefatigable super soldier's body, habitually only slowed by emotional and mental exhaustion or actual physical injury. He headed for the side of the pool and hoisted himself up onto the side, gathering a nearby towel and draping it around his shoulders, all too aware of the tautness of the skin around the arc reactor as he did so, not actually painful but at least uncomfortable. It occurred to him just how often Tony must push himself beyond the sensible limits of his physical limitations both in battle and his work…Iron Man suit or not, this was only a normal human body with what most people would consider to be a significant impairment. Once more, he could only wonder at the spirit and determination of the man.

Tony continued to strike out for, first, one end of the pool then the other; the repetitive but restorative action lessening the emotional stresses of the serum on his mind and allowing him to, relatively speaking, reach a state of both physical and mental relaxation. The clarity of thought and focus, he realised, was quite extraordinary; it allowed him to simultaneously focus on the level of effort (minimal) he was exerting in the activity and to assess the various technological options available to him in order to improve the pool for the soldier and the structural adaptations those options would require.

As usual, whenever he had a project in mind, he felt himself becoming anxious to exit the pool and get to his workshop to begin development but the body he inhabited was now in a routine and showed no signs of slowing; he realised, reluctantly, that he would need to continue to exercise for a while longer at least. It occurred to him that the serum was developed to create the perfect soldier; a being of rigidity and discipline, accustomed to feats of physical endurance and exceptional focus during the most tedious of tasks whilst retaining sharpness of mind and a constant alert for action – an organic and intelligent weapon, no less and, without the proper maintenance, every bit as dangerous as any other weapon. He inwardly sighed, Dr Erskine had certainly known what he was doing when he selected someone as gentle and calm as Steve to be the recipient of Project Rebirth; just the small taster of the demands of this body had the genius resenting the imposition already and it was scarcely like it was a permanent state of affairs. He couldn't help but wonder how things would have worked out had another candidate been chosen and made a mental note to ask Steve about that later.

On that thought, he swam still harder gaining further confidence in his form's ability to react and respond: For all the constraints it placed on the individual, it really was a remarkable piece of bio-tech and he momentarily exulted in the sheer perfection of it. It was as he surfaced once again that he realised the present occupant of his own body was sitting at the side of the pool, chest heaving lightly from his exertions and watching him keenly.

Tony had always known he was attractive (although, if he was brutally honest with himself, he'd have to admit that his allure had been increased exponentially over the years by the size of his bank balance) but all he could see at this moment was a form whose best years were probably behind him; the slight greying at the temples, the waistline a little looser than ideal, the ugly scarring around the arc reactor…..and the reactor itself, the symbol of exactly what it took for him to get a hold of himself and do something that wasn't entirely about his own wealth and pleasure. For a moment he thought of Dorian Gray, seeing himself as he truly was while he looked on housed in a form of unmarred perfection. He felt his fists begin to tighten as his familiar deep-seated disgust and self-loathing started to well up inside him….

"Tony? TONY? Are you okay?" The concerned voice brought him back to the present with a jolt.

"Err…yeah….I'm…err…" he fought to regain some composure, "...I'm just thinking….you must feel like you've swapped a super car for an old banger…" he finished lamely.

Steve smiled lightly in response, obviously not entirely convinced by the answer but happy to go with it for now:

"Not so much. I'm kind of thinking of it as a bit of a classic: Maybe a bit of wear and tear and a new part or two…" he tapped at the reactor with a hint of fondness, "…but it's definitely got a style all of its own. Besides, you should have seen the first model I had, now that was an old banger – no exhaust system worth speaking of and the less said about the suspension the better." He concluded his analogy with a humorous and friendly grin.

Tony couldn't resist a chuckle: There, in a nutshell, lay the fundamental difference between the two of them – their relative perspectives on life.

As if sensing that Tony had probably done as much exercise as his mind could take without turning in on itself, Steve concluded it was time to turn attention to other things and hope the super soldier's body had reduced its energy levels enough to keep it controllable.

"Come on Tony, you've earned yourself some lab time." He stood and moved to go shower, the other man joining him within moments grateful to be given the opportunity to get his mind onto something else.

"Join me?" Steve was surprised to be asked but happy to agree. "I want to go through some of the ideas I've got for the pool." Tony added unnecessarily – more wanting the reassurance of Steve's presence than anything else but unwilling to admit it.

"Sure thing. I'll get us a snack and meet you down there."

Tony watched him go, for all he was beginning to understand he felt he still had more questions than answers….and, after all, what kind of a scientist would he be if he didn't take the opportunity that had been afforded him to learn everything he could about his father's greatest scientific project. Maybe those aliens had a point after all?


	9. Chapter 9

**Sincere apologies for the long break in updating this one. A significant dose of RL and a major roadblock in the creative process led me to a complete rethink of this chapter. I'd have to say I'm personally quite pleased with the result.**

**Thank you to all those who've followed and reviewed. Your support is much appreciated.**

* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter Nine**

Natasha was deliberate in her movements, abandoning her usual stealth, as she entered the kitchen – conscious of Steve's, currently, normal human hearing she was reluctant to give any appearance she was sneaking up on him. He looked up as he prepared the tray of snacks for himself and Tony; the brief narrowing of his eyes told the spy that he hadn't missed her actions – damn the man was sharp, with or without enhanced senses. He gave her a weak smile as though, whilst appreciative of her efforts, he couldn't help but be suspicious of her motivation for doing so.

She eyed him briefly with a mix of caution and….empathy? He wasn't sure. To break what would undoubtedly rapidly become an awkward silence he spoke first:

"How's your face?" The question was loaded with trepidation as to her reaction rather than concern over its healing, her abilities in that regard second only, among the group, to his body's serum-enhanced ones.

She raised her hand and gingerly touched the swollen and bruised area on the side of her face, a light dressing covering the split on her cheekbone. "I've had worse," she stated matter-of-factly and, Steve was pleased (though surprised) to note, without bitterness – at least that boded well for Tony's long-term safety if she wasn't holding him personally responsible for the incident. That said, the logical conclusion as to the reason for her ambivalence towards the action, was that she was digging more deeply into the cause: Steve's grip tightened on the mug he'd just picked up and, momentarily, he was grateful that for once he didn't have to worry about it shattering in his hand. He braced himself for the interrogation he knew was coming, wondering whether she was going to take a direct approach or one of her more subtle modes of questioning.

"Bruce told me what you said." ("_Direct" _he concluded). Her statement was even and colourless as she pulled a piece of sliced apple from the fruit platter Steve had been preparing and nibbled at it, eyeing him coolly the whole time.

He pursed his lips slightly; uncomfortable with anything he regarded as personal information about him being shared, regardless of how well-meaning.

"I need to get this down to the workshop before we undo all the good work…" Steve hastily started to gather the contents of the snack tray together.

"How often do you feel like hitting one of us rather than a punch bag?" The spy interrupted him putting her hand over Steve's and indicating with a nod that he should leave everything where it was for the time being. "Tony's fine for the moment, he's calm and focussed on a project, I checked with Jarvis…" he reluctantly withdrew from the task and raised his head to meet her steady gaze. "He seems to have realised that, for the duration, he's going to have to rein in his innate 'Tony-ness'….so we've got time to talk."

Steve sighed and took a step back; he tried to look as relaxed as possible. It had only ever been a matter a time, he figured, until they realised just how pathetically weak he really was.

"No-one, least of all me, thinks you're weak Steve." Natasha's words were soft as though she'd read his thoughts. He looked at her questioningly but remained resolutely silent, not trusting himself to speak until he had a clearer idea where she was going with this.

"I'm just concerned as to how you're doing through all this…" she summarised her feelings somewhat inadequately but sufficient for the situation at hand.

"Clearly not as badly as everyone thinks I should be doing…" he replied dryly. He ran his hand through the unfamiliar unkempt hair. "This morning wasn't Tony's fault you know, it was just….sort of muscle-memory I suppose; he's not used to controlling the battle-instincts of that body…"

"I figured it was something like that," she half-grinned, she knew what it was like to switch trained responses like that on and off. "It's why he's still in one piece." Steve smiled his gratitude at her understanding.

"Has it been worse than you anticipated?" She didn't beat around the bush as she headed off his attempt to steer the conversation back onto Tony. He looked fixedly at her, his mind a whirl of emotions: This 21st Century preoccupation with talking about your feelings remained something he was very uncomfortable with, back in his time it was heavily discouraged. That said, it was tempting to accept the offer, to try and make sense of everything whilst he had the opportunity without the serum colouring his every emotion; a chance to find out how much of the mess he constantly felt himself to be, when he wasn't occupied with missions, was really him.

Sensing his inner conflict, Natasha adopted a relaxed pose in one of the kitchen chairs stealing another piece of fruit while she waited for him to make his mind up. Bruce had told her both about what Steve had said about his increased aggressiveness and the sketches, ostensibly to appease her wrath at Tony, but it had mainly served to pique her curiosity. This, coupled with her observations of the shadowy, isolated figure their leader cut in everyday life, made her determined to make at least some headway in getting to know the man a bit better while this unexpected opportunity presented itself.

As if having made his mind up about something, he moved decisively (and unexpectedly) over to the tall cupboard in the corner, took out a broom and thrust the handle end of it up against the air vent – an action met with the unmistakeable thud of a head hitting aluminium and a surprised yelp!

"Alright….I'm going." Clint's muffled voice sounded through the grating. He let them hear him shuffle away from the kitchen area just in case Steve got any other ideas about uses for that broom, especially as it seemed likely he'd get Natasha's full support in that event.

Natasha couldn't resist an amused smirk. "Guess it'll be a while before he calls you 'Captain Oblivious' again." She was given a half-smile and a cup of coffee in response to that remark. "Jarvis? Please note this conversation is private." She addressed thin air.

"Duly noted Ms Romanoff." Jarvis' impassive tones confirmed.

The spy's instruction to the AI seemed to relax Steve a little more. He nodded his appreciation of her action and sat himself at the table directly facing her. After a few seconds he sighed and asked: "So, what do you want to know?"

"You can start by answering my original question."

He considered his response for a few moments; it was one of the things she liked about him, so few people bothered to think before they spoke: "Never" he said. When her raised eyebrow prompted him to elucidate he added: "One of the constants in my life has been that I despise people who resort to violence because they can't formulate a coherent verbal argument. What kind of a hypocrite would I be if I were to act like them simply because someone doesn't act the way I'm accustomed to people behaving. You're all from this time….this world….it's my job to adapt, not yours to adapt to me."

"….and that's why you keep us all at arm's length?" Natasha contemplated his words. They'd all been concerned about him, in their own ways (even Tony), but respected his space figuring it was his way of dealing with his grief; none of them felt qualified to help him deal with that. But she couldn't help but wonder if they shouldn't have made more of an effort to at least tone their behaviour down a bit around him (she thought particularly of some of the more, what he would consider, vulgar language and activities) just to help him adjust a little more easily: After all, the culture shock he must have experienced was….well…unimaginable.

The growing sense of guilt inside her didn't sit well: In many respects he was right, it was his job to adapt because there was no altering the situation he found himself in or what year it was – but surely as his team, it was their job to support him to do that. The trouble was, for Steve, dignity was everything as both a leader and a human being: She thought about what Bruce had said about the contrast in the sketches and wondered how much it had been costing him as an individual to maintain that dignity.

She realised he was watching her with a curiously bland expression as she processed her thoughts; she was, as ever, grateful that it was almost entirely natural to her to betray nothing with her features – she just wished he wasn't almost as good at it as she was.

"Have the emotional effects of the serum always been this bad?" She finally managed to get back on track.

"I'm not sure…back during the War….well I never really got much chance to think about how it would be afterwards. Before I was in action…" he cast his eyes down thinking about those humiliating days as what Colonel Phillips had termed a "chorus girl", "…I'd had my basic training but I wasn't really battle-ready so I guess my instincts were more "flight" than "fight" in those days. Now I'm faced with 'normal everyday life' in between missions….I suppose I have to wonder whether I'd have been able to return to that after the War even if I'd made it to the end."

"I think you're being too harsh on yourself" she countered, almost too sharply. "You…." she sought a euphemism that wouldn't be too distressing, "….were 'lost' at the height of a battle and woke up to everyone immediately lying to you, which must have made the truth when you found out seem even worse." She paused and added something she'd wanted to say for a while but had never seemed to find the right time. "Just for the record, I want to tell you I thought that was an awesomely stupid idea when they came up with it, and told them so."

He nodded his approval at her statement; it still hurt that they'd treated him so shabbily – as though postponing the shock of the reality could in any way have lessened it – in many respects it had just made it worse because he was being given the information by people whose first thought appeared to be to try and deceive him - and more that they'd thought him (and, he often felt, continued to think him) stupid just because he hadn't grown up with a laptop in one hand and a TV remote in the other. Emboldened by the sense she was on the right track, Natasha continued:

"Add to that everything they threw at you immediately afterwards…alien invasions, modern attitudes and technologies… _us!_" She rolled her eyes trying to convey just how massive an ask she considered that would have been for anyone, let alone someone who'd been through anything like the trauma that had just befallen their nominal leader at that point. "Steve, you're encountering 'newness' on a daily basis whilst being expected to maintain what the World, and SHIELD, expect of you: If you'd made it back home in 1945, you wouldn't have had to deal with any of that. As for berating yourself for not completely adapting yet…..I think the rest of us just wonder, most of the time, how you're even functioning at all….."

She stopped short, briefly wondering whether she'd gone too far. She watched carefully as he looked away, digesting what she'd said and, inwardly, felt relief as he turned back and simply replied:

"Thank you."

Somehow, that simple expression of thanks made her feel even worse for all the times she'd not stepped in when the teasing and 'banter' had pushed the man away from the group over the last few months. She was surprised to see Steve was now standing to rearrange the tray, adding some cookies to make up for what they'd eaten, as though he was going to leave.

"Wait!" She wasn't sure what more she wanted from this, rather one-sided, conversation but she knew she didn't want it to end yet, she had so many questions: Eventually, she settled on:

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if the serum hadn't been lost?"

"Frequently…"

"And…?"

She watched carefully as his façade slipped just a little more than before, a look she could only describe as "resignation" took up residence; the look of a man who'd witnessed far too much in far too short a time.

"There would have been no Captain America…" he mused examining a banana he'd lifted from the fruit bowl; such an everyday item now but a rarely seen luxury when he was growing up and never seen at all the entire time he was in Europe. "When something becomes easy to replace…." He examined an area of bruising on the fruit and, after pressing the slightly blackened area to ascertain how soft it was, he threw it casually into the bin, "…it loses its value."

"You think the super soldiers would have become…disposable?" It was a logical conclusion, she knew how military command worked as well as anyone, but to hear the man who was still ostensibly the embodiment (minus the body) of the American ideal admit to such a cynical viewpoint was….well…..utterly shocking, even to her hardened sensibilities.

"Do you know who would have been next? After you I mean…" she'd dealt with many interrogations over the years so questions came naturally to her but this was driven by pure curiosity and concern – something she'd rarely encountered before. More importantly, this was simply Steve who was talking now…speaking with the freedom of knowing that everything he was feeling was his own emotion, nothing enhanced or distorted.

He was calm, calmer than she might have expected when he finally elected to answer her. Maybe that was his way, but she found his rationality unexpectedly chilling nonetheless when he said:

"I guess Phillips would have got his first choice once the serum had been proven to work on Dr Erskine's….a sexist bully called Gilmore Hodge. Everything senior army officers wanted from their soldiers…strong, fast, quick to obey orders….." The memory of the man and his viciously snide ways made the words feel bitter on his tongue. But if there was one good reason for that serum to no longer exist it was that there was no risk of someone like him being given it. He watched as Natasha, almost unconsciously, raised a hand to her bruised face; her train of thought only too apparent.

"So you think they'd have deployed the super-soldiers to do the most dangerous missions; the loss of one instead of twenty is always going to make the casualty statistics look better…" he nodded, she was summarising his thoughts on the matter precisely, "…then what happens at the end of the War?"

"Do you think they'd have let what was left of us just run around in public? It's in the mindset of institutions to tar everyone with the same brush." She nodded, whilst no-one could know for certain what might have happened in that changed set of circumstances it was logical to assume that there was no way the powers that be would have been comfortable with the idea of 30 or 40 serum-enhanced, battle-hardened soldiers being just released back into society: But the fact that Steve thought that way was another matter entirely.

"Ironic isn't it? Those embarrassing propaganda films and shows, the garish uniform…constantly working to live up to being Captain America is the only thing that stops them locking me up in a lab – all the same things that stop me even trying to have a life in the here and now….." he ended bitterly. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief in hearing himself say it out loud; he knew it wouldn't change his lot in life but it felt good to just give vent to the underlying sense of unfairness that had pervaded his existence since he'd awoken, feelings he never dared to dwell on or express normally for fear of how far the serum might compel him to go.

"You know we'd never let them do anything like that to you…." Natasha started to say but tailed off as she realised that…no, he probably didn't know that at all. What reassurance had any of them given him that they'd protect him against the alternatives he'd been entertaining? They'd all just assumed he was being taken care of in his new existence when, for all they knew, he could still be officially "dead". Were SHIELD even paying him? Did he have any independence at all or was he entirely reliant for his welfare on the largesse (or exploitation) of others? As far as she was aware, none of them had inquired into the detail of the (many) meetings he'd had at SHIELD HQ; what options had he been given, if any?

The whole picture started to coalesce in her mind: His routine and structured behaviour were all part of his taking what control he could over his life; he was taking refuge in habits that both allowed him to contain his feelings and give him some assurance of familiarity, a framework by which he could cope with the people and situation around him. The regular sight of a pile of broken…no destroyed….punching bags suddenly made perfect sense. How could she have missed this? She prided herself on being able to read people….but then Steve was very good at being Captain America and it's very easy to overlook something you're not looking for.

She rounded the table and strode purposefully towards him. He tried to disguise his instinct to flinch (standard response to any rapid movement by the Black Widow) and was clearly astonished when she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him: It took a few seconds but eventually, cautiously, he hugged back.

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered kissing him gently on the cheek. She felt him take a shuddering breath as he pushed back from her.

"Don't be," he said, starting to gather himself once more. "I shouldn't have said all that, it's not fair to burden you…."

"I asked…." she countered, "…and I'm only sorry it took me so long to do it."

"Trust me, you wouldn't have got that reply normally." His smile was mirthless and his eyes devoid of any feeling – an empty look she'd seen often when he thought no-one was looking but had attributed purely to his grief: She'd never stopped to consider the fear he must be feeling about the present.

It took her only moments to realise why he'd taken the chance now…..the thought followed swiftly by exactly why he'd been so worried about Tony since this body-swap had taken place.

Whether Jarvis had been waiting for an appropriate pause or just had uncanny timing wasn't entirely clear but he took this as an opportunity to interrupt.

"Captain, Ms Romanoff. Forgive the intrusion but I believe now might be a good time for a diversion in the workshop."

"Is everything alright Jarvis?" Natasha noticed how quickly the dutiful mask of the team's leader snapped back into place as Steve was all attention, gathering the long-neglected tray in his hands.

"Sir appears to be trying to hack the New York City Planning Office server….."

"I'll be right there."

"We'll be right there Jarvis." Natasha smiled supportively at Steve with a loose hand movement drawing his eye to her face. "Just in case he needs reminding about not getting carried away."


	10. Chapter 10

**Go me! Amazing how much I can get done with a few days off work.**

**Thank you to everyone who's bothered to follow and review, I really do appreciate the support.**

**I realise this one is moving very slowly but, believe me, stuff will actually happen at some point: In the meantime, I'm just a sucker for writing bromance!  
**

* * *

**Walk a Mile: Chapter 10**

"Tony….you can't just expect them not to notice they never passed _THAT_ for construction…"

As the displaced soldier and the spy approached the workshop Bruce's normally gentle tones, abnormally suffused with irritation, could clearly be heard through the open door.

"So what? That's what I have a legal team for and….."

Tony's argument was interrupted by Natasha's entrance; his eyes were drawn immediately to the marks on her face and the accompanying reminder of just how easy it was for him to go too far at the moment. Steve followed her, his features carefully schooled not to react while his eyes took in the detail of the scene before him.

Bruce, he noted, whilst looking a little flustered, was (mercifully) exhibiting not a hint of green although he definitely looked as though the events of the last 24 hours were taking their toll.

Tony? Well Tony had obviously been busy….very busy: The various interactive work surfaces were littered with a wide variety of holographic designs, all started but (apparently) none finished. Steve inwardly berated himself for having allowed his attention to be distracted; he should have known the pool-improvement project was far too simple to leave the man's serum-enhanced enthusiasm to its own devices for too long. This looked like he'd gone from one idea to the next, with each one grander and more disproportionate than the last, and had culminated in what Bruce was objecting to now.

Steve listened quietly as Bruce explained, as calmly as possible, that Tony was in the process of trying to amend the planning records for the City to gain permission for his proposed development of the pool facilities. He looked carefully at the hologram of the Tower, which appeared to have gained an extended floor which ran around the outside about two-thirds of the way up. A glance at the fully-realised, computer-generated artist's impression of the finished building set in the New York skyline confirmed he had read the schematic correctly: The ring around the building was, in fact, made of glass or other clear material, filled with water and, in the 3D image, sparkled like a jewel in the sunlight.

The pragmatic side of Steve's mind, the Captain's normal approach (unable to relax and indulge the more fanciful side of his nature) immediately ran through the abundance of reasons why this was a bad idea: Everything from the increased vulnerability of the Tower in the event of another attack to the distraction for motorists from the light's reflection on the water and no shortage of other objections in-between: All points, no doubt, that Bruce had already made and which had probably exacerbated Tony's little ego-trip that had led him to the point where he was now – agitated, stubborn, determined and unlikely to back-down any time soon.

Unless…..

Emboldened both by Natasha's supportiveness during their earlier conversation and the freedom of not actually having to be Captain America for the moment, Steve figured he'd try a different approach which might just be what was required on this occasion: The unexpected.

"Tony, that's absolutely amazing. Is it actually possible to support that weight of water so high?"

Surprised and, subsequently, caught completely off-guard, Tony reacted with his best "_well yes, I am a genius after all_" smile and joined Steve in admiring the visualisation of his design.

"You really like it?" Tony couldn't suppress the question.

"It's spectacular. Like a jewel on the skyline." Steve wasn't lying, it was joyous and frivolous like the parades he remembered seeing as a child; splashes of colour and happiness in an otherwise drab existence. He looked around at the other, less-pursued, options. "I can't believe you've had all these ideas in such a short time."

"Feeling inspired I guess…" Tony followed the man's gaze around the room. He wasn't too sure where this was going and it was anything but what he'd expected, but the warm feeling he was getting from the appreciation of his work was….well…nice, not to mention calming. He really hadn't meant to take the whole "outdoor pool" idea so far, it was just an engineering challenge to see if he could theoretically do it, then Bruce had come in telling him what he could and couldn't do….and before he knew it he was hacking into the City's planning control database…..

"What's this….?" Steve had approached a curious holographic animation that looked a bit like….well….it reminded him of the current from an underwater drainage pipe into the river which the lads in his neighbourhood had used like a sort of poor man's water park.

"That?" Tony queried dismissively. "An idea they use in smaller hotels where they haven't got room for a decent-sized pool. It allows you to swim against a flow where, otherwise, you'd barely manage a full stroke before you hit the side….oh no, seriously….?" His response to Steve's look of "_well isn't that basically what you were trying to achieve?_" was almost comical. "….no really….those things are crap; water displacement's a major problem and the flow the system delivers for the power used….well it's pathetic…unsophisticated…." he tailed off.

"Sometimes…" Steve shrugged, "…the reason ideas already exist is because they're basically good ideas that would benefit from a little refinement. Are you telling me you couldn't improve on that?"

"Well of course I could!" The billionaire huffed. "What existing device wouldn't benefit from the input of my genius?" He made his way over to the workbench in question. Deep down, he was secretly delighted at the way out this offered from the corner he'd well and truly painted himself into but he remained adamant he wasn't going to show it.

"Come on Bruce." Natasha murmured gently to the bemused scientist as they listened to Tony begin to expound on all the "elementary" mistakes the designers had made with the existing pool systems. "I'll make you a cup of tea."

She led him from the workshop unable to completely resist the urge to smile at the snippets of discussion she could hear behind them.

* * *

Natasha kept Bruce's arm in a gentle but firmly reassuring grip as they made their way back to the kitchen. Content as she was at the outcome of events in the workshop she found she was forcing her face into an expression geared purely at keeping the anxious scientist as calm as possible.

On the other hand, inwardly, she was starting to wonder just how the hell she was going to keep this up for seven days: Much as she'd started to genuinely care for her team-mates (and that in itself had come as one hell of a shock to her), her emerging role as peacekeeper and general mother-figure in this scenario was starting to wear on her well-hardened nerves. She was rapidly becoming aware that, if she didn't shoot someone or something soon, she was going to lose all self-credibility…..ushering Bruce into the same seat that Steve had occupied earlier, she busied herself with the kettle.

It may have been a sixth sense, developed over a long period of working with his partner, or just a lousy sense of timing but, either way, Clint chose that moment to wander into the kitchen: To be met with a resounding Black Widow slap around the back of the head, imperceptibly delivered whilst she was apparently busying herself with the teapot.

"Aaargh…that still hurts from earlier…" he whined, ignoring Bruce's querying glance as to what he was referring. "What've I done?" He wondered plaintively (and fairly loudly).

"Only be you…" she muttered cryptically, placing three mugs neatly (albeit with slightly more force than was strictly necessary to accomplish the task) on the table and readied the pot of tea. Bruce's bewilderment was now manifest and he was starting to wonder if there'd been more body swaps (that wasn't the Captain down in the workshop surely?) and he'd just been too wrapped up in his own regret to notice.

Clint, on the other hand, seemed to take being hit as an occupational hazard and, whilst even Bruce noticed he'd checked out all the possible escape routes available to him with a quick pass of his eyes around the room, he maintained a cheery (if slightly perplexed) demeanour as she finished preparing the tea and brought it over.

She sat down, briefly covering her face with both hands, letting out an unusually loud sigh as she did so; thoughts of heavily armed supervillains intent on evil and the satisfaction of beating them to a pulp played across her emotionally exhausted mind and brought her a measure of calm as she composed herself.

Bruce watched her with concern, she had offered to make him tea after all and he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything else to upset her….Clint, on the other hand, assumed a position of relaxed indifference (though Bruce wouldn't mind betting he'd make it to the air vents in record time if the need arose).

Presently, Natasha withdrew her hands, smiled sweetly and began to pour three cups of tea.

"OK Nat?" Clint's tone was pitched at a level that suggested he had a great deal of experience in asking that question without appearing either flippant or patronising. She nodded at him and Bruce.

"So…..how was your 'private' conversation with our good Captain?" Clint ventured, clearly encouraged by the fact he was still alive.

"Exactly that…._private_!" Natasha felt justifiably proud that she'd probably got more words from the man during their conversation earlier than she'd heard from him, other than mission briefings and battle situations, since they'd all lived under the same roof: It was not in her nature to betray hard-won confidences so glibly.

Bruce was curious but recognised discretion when he saw it and respected it; if any part of the conversation had helped to defuse the earlier situation he was quite happy to accept that it must have been for the good. Clint eyed both of them a moment before wisely, albeit reluctantly, deciding silence was currently his best option.

The stillness that descended between them as they all, simultaneously, found their tea to be unusually interesting was disrupted by loud footsteps, that could only be Thor's, pounding the corridor to the kitchen.

The alien demi-god strode in wearing a jovial expression that suggested he'd learnt nothing to alarm during his communing with the archivists of Asgard.

"Ah my friends, so good to find you all here…..and enjoying the refreshing beverage of infused, dried leaves….may I join you?"

"Please do," Bruce answered convivially, deliberately looking away from the face Clint had pulled at Thor's terminology (although he had to admit, tea sounded a whole lot less appealing when described in that manner).

Sitting at the end of the table, having pulled a large bag of caramel popcorn from one of the cupboards en route, Thor nodded his gratitude to Bruce for the tea placed before him and began shovelling large handfuls of the sweet snack into his mouth: Contrary to popular belief, he didn't purely eat poptarts, pretty much anything full of sugar and otherwise empty calories would do – evidently dental health wasn't a big concern for Asgardians.

"So did you find anything out?" Natasha asked.

"Indeed," Thor boomed his response between mouthfuls. "As I had remembered, there is evidence that the story originated in truth and the outcome was as I said. However," he beamed a warm, heartening smile to those around him, "there appear to have been particular circumstances which, providing we act prudently during the remainder of this unfortunate situation, are unlikely to occur on this occasion. I will be happy to explain more fully once we are joined by our good Captain and the Man of Iron…." a brief flicker of doubt crossed his features as though wondering if he shouldn't have enquired sooner, "…I assume they remain well?"

"They're fine…" Natasha soothed, "…aren't they Jarvis?"

"They appear to be getting along quite admirably, Ms Romanoff." Jarvis assured.

* * *

"Admirably" was scarcely a word Tony would use in this or any other situation, nonetheless it was quite an apt descriptor for the way the two men had worked together over the last half hour.

Steve, Tony was impressed to realise, whilst lacking familiarity with many scientific terms – a result, no doubt, of no more than a nominal education in the thirties – had an outstanding ability to assimilate and apply concepts when given explanations in straightforward terms and real world examples. He was naturally observant and had a great capacity to visualise ideas which meant, with a little guidance, he rapidly became adept at manipulating the holographic interfaces to such an extent that Tony couldn't help but wonder why on Earth it had taken him so long to introduce them to him; they were, after all, the perfect tool when fine motor skills were compromised.

Despite the relative (in Tony's terms) simplicity of the project, he found he was really enjoying its development, not least because it felt like he was feeling the joy of learning everything for the first time, feeling the sense of achievement as he did when he was young….

Young…that was it. Steve was _very_ young. A curious realisation to have, Tony considered, when the man in question was born in 1918 and currently inhabiting a body easily 15 years senior to his own; but then, this experience seemed to be all about discovering things he could have worked out much sooner if only he'd ever bothered to think….

"Tony…" a concerned voice cut a swathe through his rapidly darkening thoughts. "I'm no expert but I think these holographic generator panel things work a whole lot better in one piece." The genius looked at the glistening surface that was starting to crack under his thumb where he'd begun to grip with increased intensity.

"Oh….er…miles away there. You know…" he recovered, "…I think we've got something here." The finished concept design was a lesson in elegant simplicity, with just enough innovation to remove any doubt that it was a Stark Industries product: A simple motor pushed (rather than forced) water in a wide, continuous current through a zoned area of the pool; sensors monitored the movement of the swimmer and adjusted the speed of the flow to keep them in the middle of the zone; to stop they needed only to drop out of the back of the zone. The addition of the newly developed SI energy conversion panels ensured that much of the energy expended by the system was reabsorbed and reused making it exceptionally efficient for sustained use.

Tony had moved to a side cupboard which, Steve immediately realised, was actually a fridge in disguise and returned with two bottles of beer one of which he offered:

"Go ahead, I know you're not a drinker but that body is." His eyes gained a mischievous twinkle as he paraphrased Steve's words from earlier. The beer was accepted with appreciation, Steve did, in fact, enjoy a beer even in his normal body it was just everyone seemed to assume that, because he couldn't get drunk, he had no interest in drinking at all….and he didn't like to ask…..

"Cheers" he raised the bottle before taking a long swig and enjoying the cold, crisp refreshing taste.

Tony grinned. "_Who'd have thought?_"

"Jarvis, forward these schematics to the guys in R&D. I want a full work up with costings for a hidden installation in the Tower pool; also, get them to look at a less powerful version for commercial use, consider applications in physical rehabilitation, a kids version for children's units – holographic dolphins or something – you know…..oh and get them to work on a retrofittable surface design for a low cost version too. Tell Marketing to get on it – give those idle bastards something new to think about," he winked at a smiling Steve.

"Certainly Sir." Jarvis acknowledged.

"We could launch a red, white and blue version for those executive fitness suites," Tony continued to enthuse to Steve's amusement, "…call it the 'Captain America Swim Fit Kit'.." Tony made the action with his hands as though printing the words in the air. "Would probably double the selling price, believe me there's not a flabby middle-manager in the World who doesn't fancy himself looking like this," he swept his hands in a downward gesture. "Worth a thought Cap," he added at Steve's doubtful expression, "would boost your income from image rights…"

"My what?" Steve had absolutely no idea what he was talking about now.

"You know, earnings on all those items with your picture on, licenses to produce t-shirts and action figures and so on….." Tony paused, a sudden thought occurring to him, "you are making money and getting a final say on all that stuff aren't you?"

The statement made Steve feel suddenly small and stupid and vulnerable for the first time since this had all happened. He felt deeply uncomfortable whenever he encountered any Captain America merchandise. The whole concept of people buying things just because he was on it, even Coulson's trading cards, had all served to just make him feel even less of a real person in this new time. He remembered some meetings at SHIELD where they'd brought in a team of smug, fatuous (in his opinion) people in smart suits who'd bombarded him with terms like the ones Tony had just used and stuck some contracts in front of him. He'd scanned them not understanding most of it and only really checking that he wasn't signing himself into anything that would involve him being used for research; satisfied that there was no mention of anything like that, he'd signed just to get rid of them and get out of there.

He braced himself for the sarcastic and condescending comments he was certain were heading his way; the teasing that was, no doubt, imminent given yet another example of his ignorance and naivety.

"I….I guess I heard some of those…terms…" he finally managed to say.

Tony felt an almost irrational degree of irritation swell inside him, not with Steve, but with himself for not having given this so much as a thought: How the hell was a man fresh from the 40s supposed to know about all this stuff? What else had he been pushed into committing himself to by those vultures at SHIELD? No wonder he always kept his distance from them as a group, what support had his team been all this time? Forcing himself to react calmly he asked:

"Tell me what happened?"

Steve looked at him, his expression a mixture of surprise and relief, but he was honest to the core and a straight question deserved a straight answer.

"About a week after we all parted…at Central Park…I got a call ordering me back to SHIELD HQ. I had a series of meetings where they basically briefed me on how I was perceived by the public and what I could and couldn't be seen to be doing….

"Patronising bastards," Tony breathed. "They didn't do you a slide show did they…?"

"Only one, that trainee will never know how close he came to being fed his own pointy stick," Steve grinned with an unexpectedly black humour Tony couldn't resist chuckling at, the man had one hell of a personality lurking under that façade he'd felt compelled to hide behind all this time. "Then, at what they promised me was the last meeting, some external "consultants" came in talked about commercial avenues and licenses and so on…and got me to sign some forms. I had no idea what they were talking about, I just wanted to get out of there…."

"Did they offer you the opportunity to have someone there with you?"

"Yes…but it wasn't like I knew anyone…."

"You knew me…." Tony's words trailed off, why would the guy have called him at that time? The man who'd managed, at best, a civil handshake…when he wasn't calling him "of no use" or any number of other dumb names….all because of blaming him for things that happened while the guy was frozen of all things…._No!_ Now wasn't the time for self-recrimination…he quelled the anger once again, at least enough to inquire:

"But you are getting paid…right?"

"They set up a bank account for me, some money seems to go in there regularly…." he paused, he wasn't motivated by money but he realised he sounded dumb knowing so little about his own arrangements.

"Do you have copies of what you signed?"

"I have them….I don't understand them…."

"They're in _legalese_, don't worry, normal mortals aren't supposed to understand them," Tony soothed. He was working his way back on to more comfortable ground now, an area where he could do something to start making amends for his previous negligence, "that's how lawyers manage to get away with charging exorbitant amounts. Tell you what though, you can use the interface in your room to scan them, Jarvis will talk you through it, and they can go to my legal team for a once over. It'll all be confidential; I don't want to know anything about the contents, your business is your own. I just want someone qualified to look them over, make sure you're getting everything you're due and aren't being ripped off. You can include anything SHIELD's had you sign as well if you like – I don't trust them not to use your income to finance your own missions…"

"I signed them of my own free will; not sure what could be done if there was anything wrong…"

"I'm no expert on the legal definition for something having been signed under duress, but I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have too much difficulty making a case for your situation at the time those were signed. Besides," he added, opening the fridge once more, "my guys could successfully sue snow for causing frostbite…you'll be in the hands of the best."

"Thank you Tony. But you said legal work is expensive?" Steve accepted the beer he was given as Tony returned to their perches by the workbench. He was surprised and more than a little exhilarated by the show of support he'd just received, although a bit daunted by the prospect of a massive bill.

"The team are on SI payroll, they get paid whether they work or make paper planes all day." Tony smiled, attempting to wash the nagging guilt down with another mouthful of beer. "Besides…..Jarvis, delete changes to NYC Planning Database….I just saved them a job."

Steve's eyes strayed back to the image of the jewel-pool, where all this had started and he, almost unconsciously, raised his bottle in salute.

"You really do like that, don't you? You do realise it's ridiculously impractical" Tony stated flatly, still bemused by his companion's reaction.

"Isn't most art?" Steve countered.

"Hmmm….I like that...but it doesn't alter the fact that Pepper would've killed me." Steve raised an eyebrow. "Well…" the genius continued, just a hint of abashment in his expression, "…the structural reinforcement required to support that….er….suffice to say it would have been quicker and cheaper to demolish the Tower and start again." Steve almost choked trying not to laugh.

"I can see where she might have taken a dim view of that," he replied, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time.

"Sir, I can confirm the earlier changes to the Planning Department's server have been undone. Mr Barton and Dr Banner have also asked me to advise you that dinner will be ready in around 10 minutes."

"Thanks J" Tony acknowledged before adding, "please tell me it's not curried bananas again?"

Only half-listening to Jarvis' assurances that Clint and Bruce had been certain not to mix their pans up this time, Steve thought back to that night when he'd come up to the main living floor having just come back from a mission: His enhanced hearing had picked up the sound of gales of laughter as soon as he'd emerged from the elevator, unnoticed by the others. He'd listened a few moments, a small part of him wanting to join in the merriment, but a far larger part of him lost in the memories of when he'd had that – a group of people with whom he could share those rare, wonderful stupid moments in life – and felt overwhelmed by the grief that their loss engendered. He'd turned away and gone straight to his room. The last he'd heard was Thor congratulating Bruce on his "exciting confection"…he'd never heard whether the Asgardian had attempted to eat the Caramel Chicken as well….

"Should be a pretty good dinner then if they've got it right this time." Tony started to enthuse before he noticed the faraway look in his companion's eyes. "Oh, forgot you weren't there last time…."

"That's right….I wasn't." Steve agreed softly.


End file.
